UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


650  9      7 


fcenaiiDe  B.  1RaQ03ii\ 


The  Story  of  Chaldea.     12°.     Illus.    .        .        .  fi-5o 

Half  leather,  gilt  top J-75 

The  Story  of  Assyria.     12°.     Illus.    .        .    _   .  1.50 

Half  leather,  gilt  top J-75 

The  Story  of  Media,  Babylon,   and   Persia. 

12°.     Illus.        .....-•  T-5° 

Half  leather,  gilt  top 1-75 

The  Story  of  Vedic  India.     12°.     Illus.      .        .  i-5Q 

Half  leather,  gilt  top     .         .         .         •         •  -75 

Siegfried  and  Beowulf.     12°.     Illus.     $1.50 
Frithjof  and  Roland.     12°.     Illus.         1.50 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON. 


FRITHJOF'S  FIRST  BEAR. 


"{Tales  of  tbe  Iberoic  Bges 

FRITHJOF 

The  Viking  of  Norway 

AND 

ROLAND 

The  Paladin  of  France 
/Jj  0  (0 

BY 

ZENA'I'DE  A.  LRAGOZIN 

Member  of  the  Royal  Asiatic  Society  of  Great  Britain  and 

Ireland  ;  of  the  American  Oriental  Society,  etc. 

Author  of  "Chaldea,"  "Vedic  India," 

"  Siegfried  and  Beowulf,"  etc. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  &  LONDON 

£be  fmicfcerbocfcec 

1899 


COPYRIGHT,  1899 
BY 

ZENA'IDE  A.  RAGOZIN 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  Londc 


TTbe  imtcherbocfeec  prees,  Hew  IBorfe 


CONTENTS 

FRITHJOF 

PAGE 

I. — BOY  AND  GIRL 3 

II. — KING  BELE  AND  THORSTEN,  VIKING'S  SON,  8 

III.— FRITHJOF'S  THREE  HEIRLOOMS    ...  15 

IV. — FRITHJOK'S  WOOING 27 

V.— KING  RING 33 

VI. — FRITHJOF  PLAYS  CHESS        ....  39 

VII.— IN  BALDER'S  GROVE 43 

VIII.— FAREWELL 47 

IX. — ON  THE  HIGH  SEAS 63 

X.— IN  EARL  ANGANTYR'S  HALL        ...  70 

XI. — FRITHJOF'S  RETURN 79 

XII.— BALDER'S  FUNERAL  PYRE     ....  87 

XIII. — FRITHJOF  THE  VIKING          92 

XIV. — AN  UNBIDDEN  GUEST   .        .        .        .  102 

XV.— ON  THE  ICE 108 

XVI. — THE  TEMPTATION in 

XVII.— KING  RING'S  DEATH     .        .        ,        .        .119 

XVIII.— THE  ELECTION 122 

XIX.— THE  VISION 126 

XX. — RECONCILIATION 131 

NOTE  ON  THE  *   FRITHJOF-SAGA  "  .        .        .140 

iii 


iv  Contents 


ROLAND 

PART  FIRST.— GANELON'S  TREASON 

PAGE 

I. — KING  MARSILIUS  HOLDS  A  COUNCIL  AT  SARA- 

GOSSA      .        . 147 

II.— CHARLEMAGNE  HOLDS  A  COUNCIL  AT  CORDOVA,  152 

III. — GANELON'S  EMBASSY  AND  TREASON          .        .  165 

IV. — THE  REAR-GUARD — ROLAND'S  DOOM       .        .  178 

PAR T  SECOND— ROLANDS  DEA  TH 

I.— BEFORE  THE  BATTLE 187 

II.— THE  BATTLE  ....  .  .  .195 

III. — THE  OLIFANT .  209 

IV. — OLIVER'S  DEATH 216 

V. — THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  LAST  BLESSING  .  .  .  225 

VI. — ROLAND'S  DEATH 230 

PAR  T  THIRD.— RE  TRIB  UTION 

I. — FIRST  REPRISAL — CHARLEMAGNE'S  DREAMS      .  236 

II.' — SCENES  AT  SARAGOSSA 244 

III. — THE  OBSEQUIES 253 

IV. — ROLAND  AVENGED     ......  259 

V.— THE  TRAITOR'S  PUNISHMENT    .        .        ...  271 

NOTE  ON  THE   "CHANSON  DE  ROLAND  "      .  .  .283 


STATE  NORMAL  SCHOOL, 

llOS 


<\rW;^^;* 

w  *"     ^ 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

FRITHJOF'S  FIRST  BEAR        .         .  Frontispiece 
IN  BALDER'S  GROVE    .         .         .     _   .         -44 
INGEBORG'S  WATCH  BY  THE  SEA  ...       62 
FRITHJOF  IN  SINGLE  COMBAT       ...       72 

QUEEN  AND  VIKING 106 

OFF  FOR  THE  CHASE!          .         .         .         .112 

FACSIMILE  OF  A  PAGE  OF  THE  "CHANSON  DE 

ROLAND"  (LAY  OF  ROLAND)          .         .      146 
From  a  MS.  of  the  Xllth  Century,  now  at  Ox- 
ford in  the  Bodleian  Library. 

CHARLES    RECEIVES    THE    ENVOYS   OF    THE 

HEATHEN  KING  MARSILIUS    .         .         .     154 

ARCHBISHOP  TURPIN   BLESSES  THE   FRENCH 

ARMY  LEFT  AT  RONCEVAUX  .         .         .192 

HAUBERKS,  WORN  OVER  TUNICS,  AND  PEN- 
NANTS      206 

From  Seals,  Xllth  Century. 

STEEL  HELMET  WITH  NOSE-GUARD  (NASEL).     206 
From  Seals,  Xllth  Century. 
V 


Illustrations 


PAGE 


ROLAND'S  DEATH  BLAST  ON  THE  OLIFANT   .     212 

STATUES  OF  ROLAND  AND  OLIVER  IN  THE 
PORTALS  OF  THE  CATHEDRAL  AT  VER- 
ONA, IN  NORTHERN  ITALY  .  .  .  220 

Xllth  Century. 

ARCHBISHOP  TURPIN,  HIMSELF  DYING, 
BLESSES  THE  DEAD  PEERS  LAID  AT  HIS 
FEET  BY  ROLAND.  ROLAND  BRINGS  HIS 
FRIEND  OLIVER'S  BODY  ....  228 

ROLAND  TRYING  TO  BREAK  DURENDAL 
AGAINST  A  ROCK  ;  AND  ROLAND  BLOW- 
ING THE  OLIFANT  .....  232 

From  a  Stained-Glass  Window  in  the  Cathedral 

at  Chartres,  France,  XHIth  Century. 

THE  ARCHANGEL  GABRIEL  BLESSES  THE  DY- 

ING ROLAND   .         .  .  -.  ,    .         .     234 

From  a  German  MS.,  Xllth  Century. 

CHARLES  VIEWS  THE  DEAD  AT  RONCEVAUX, 
SEEKING  FOR  HIS  NEPHEW  ROLAND.  (!N 
THE  FOREGROUND,  ARCHBISHOP  TURPIN 
AND  THE  DEAD  PEERS)  .  .  •  -  .  236 

CHARLES  MOURNS  OVER  ROLAND'S  BODY      .     256 

THE  ORIFLAMME  ......     260 

After  Mosaics  in  the  Basilica  of  St.  John  Lat- 
eran  in  Rome,  IXth  Century. 

AN  OLIFANT         .         .     -    .    .,'  ,  •.  \  ..         .     26o 

Xllth  Century. 


Illustrations 


Vll 


DEMOISELLE  AUDE  KILLED  BY  THE  TIDINGS 
OF  ROLAND'S  DEATH        .         .         .         .272 

JUGGLER  (JONGLEUR)  .         .  .         .     290 

From  a  MS.  in  the  National  Library  in  Paris, 
Xlth  Century. 


I 
JUGS 


FRITHJOF 
THE  VIKING  OF  NORWAY 


BOY  AND  GIRL 

OLD  HILDING,  King  Bale's  tried 
and  trusted  counsellor,  resided  at 
his  handsome  homestead  with  its  rich  and 
well-kept  farm.  Here  the  aged  sage 
gladdened  the  restful  idleness  of  his  wan- 
ing years  watching  the  growth  of  two 
tender  plants  entrusted  to  his  care — fairer 
the  North  had  never  seen :  the  one  a 
lordly  oak,  straight  of  trunk,  stately  of 
crown,  strong  to  defy  the  storm  ;  the 
other  a  lovely  rose  scarce  open,  half 
dreaming  in  the  bud.  Frithjof  was  the 
youthful  oak  ;  but  the  rose  was  known  to 
the  sons  of  the  North  as  Ingeborg  the 
Fair.  Not  often  was  one  seen  without 
the  other. 

A  proud  lad  was  Frithjof  the  day  that 

3 


4  Frithjof 

he  learned  to  read  his  first  rune,  for  did 
he  not  hasten  to  teach  it  forthwith  to  will- 
ing Ingeborg?  What  boy  happier  than 
he  when  he  took  her  in  his  light  skiff 
out  on  the  blue  waters,  and  she  clapped 
her  little  hands  in  the  blitheness  of  her 
heart  as  he  set  the  snowy  sail  ?  No  nest 
too  high  for  him  to  fetch  down  for  her — 
the  kingly  eagle  himself  would  hardly 
keep  from  him  his  eggs  and  young.  No 
brook  so  wide  and  angry  that  he  does  not 
carry  Ingeborg  across,  so  her  little  white 
arm  nestles  at  his  neck.  The  first  blos- 
som which  rewards  his  gardening,  the  first 
strawberry  he  espies  in  the  woods,  the 
first  golden  ear  that  ripens — he  carries 
them  all  to  his  little  queen. 

But  childhood's  days  are  brief  and  fleet, 
and  ere  the  elders  look  for  the  change, 
behold  !  the  lad  stands  before  them  a  well- 
grown  youth. 

And  now  young  Frithjof  began  to  go 
out  a-hunting,  but  not  as  others  go.  In- 
deed not  many  would  have  cared  to  face 
their  first  bear  unarmed,  as  he  did,  trust- 
ing not  in  sword  or  spear,  but  only  in  his 


Boy  and  Girl  5 

own  mighty  sinews  and  dauntless  spirit. 
Breast  to  breast  he  wrestled  with  the 
beast,  and  choked  the  breath  out  of  him, 
safe  himself,  though  not  quite  scatheless  ; 
and  forthwith,  unheeding  the  bleeding 
scratches,  he  loaded  the  shaggy  monster  on 
his  shoulders  and  took  it  home  straight- 
way, where  he  laid  it,  triumphant,  at 
Ingeborg's  feet  —  his  manhood's  first 
achievement. 

Then  winter  came,  with  the  long  home 
evenings,  when  all  the  housemates  sat  at 
ease,  talking  or  resting,  around  the  hearth, 
— perchance  listening  to  young  Frithjof, 
as,  by  the  light  of  the  great  logs  blazing 
in  the  vast  fireplace,  he  read  aloud  ancient 
lays  of  Odin  the  All-Father's  heavenly 
halls,  where  gods  and  goddesses  disport 
themselves,  ever  youthful,  fair,  and  vigor- 
ous. And  there  was  not  a  goddess  with 
whom  Frithjof  did  not,  as  he  read,  secretly 
compare  his  own  sweet  playmate,  with  her 
hair  falling  in  golden  ringlets,  her  tender 
eyes,  blue  as  the  sky  in  spring,  her  deli- 
cate snow-white  skin.  But  of  all  those 
old  stories  none  moved  him  as  that  which 


6  Frithjof 

tells  how  young  Balder,  the  darling  of  the 
gods,  done  to  death  through  the  malice  of 
one  of  them,  is  mourned  by  his  faithful 
wife  Nanna.  He  thought  how  gladly  he 
would  die,  how  gladly  reside  in  the  dark 
realm  of  Hel,  the  cruel  queen  of  the  dead, 
to  be  mourned  as  lovingly  by  one  true 
maiden's  heart. 

Ingeborg  meanwhile,  King  Bele's 
blooming  daughter,  sat  at  her  loom  day 
by  day,  singing  the  deeds  of  heroes  at  her 
work,  as  she  wove  them  into  the  cunning 
tapestry,  wherein,  as  she  deftly  handled 
the  wool  of  many  dyes,  woods  and  corn- 
fields started  into  life,  and  amidst  them 
knights  and  foot-soldiers,  in  silver  mail, 
with  golden  shields  and  lifted  lances, 
waging  fierce  battles.  And  day  by  day 
the  hero  grew  more  like  Frithjof  in  feat- 
ures and  in  bearing.  She  marked  the 
likeness  and  took  the  greater  pleasure  in 
her  work.  And  she  would  have  begged 
of  Mother  Earth  her  fairest  flowers,  to 
wind  them  into  wreaths  for  Frithjof's 
locks,  and  would  have  taken  down  the  sun 
from  the  heavens  to  give  it  him  for  his 


Boy  and  Girl  7 

shield  ;  while  he  would  have  robbed  the 
sea  of  its  choicest  pearls  to  grace  Inge- 
borg's  slender  neck,  and  would  have  woven 
the  pale  moonbeams  into  a  garment  for  her. 

Old  Hilding  saw — and  his  heart  misgave 
him.  For  the  maiden  was  of  royal  blood, 
King  Dele's  only  daughter,  while  Frithjof 
came  of  humble  bonder1  stock  —  even 
though  his  father,  Thorsten,  once  King 
Bele's  trusty  squire,  was  now  by  him 
loved  and  honoured  as  his  nearest  comrade 
and  friend. 

"  Beware,  my  son,"  the  old  man  said  to 
his  ward  ;  "  let  not  this  love  of  thine  mas- 
ter thee  ;  no  good  can  come  of  it.  Only 
where  like  mates  with  like  are  happiness 
and  peace." 

But  Frithjof  laughed  the  warning  to 
scorn  : 

"  The  free-born  man  is  second  to  no 
one.  The  world  is  the  freeman's.  What 
chance  divided,  chance  may  bring  together. 
A  mighty  wooer  is  the  sword.  For  her 
I  will  do  battle  with  Thor  himself,  the  fierce 
Thunderer.  Bloom  on,  my  white  lily,  and 
fear  not :  woe  to  them  that  would  part  us." 

1  Bonder — Scandinavian  for  '*  yeoman  "  or  "  farmer." 


II 


KING   BELE   AND   THORSTEN,  VIKING'S 
SON 

IN  his  royal  hall,  leaning  upon  his  sword, 
stands  King  Bele,  and  by  his  side 
stands  Thorsten,  the  doughty  bonder,  the 
King's  old  brother-in-arms.  Nigh  on  a 
hundred  winters  have  passed  over  the  two 
warriors'  heads,  and  silvered  their  hair, 
and  marked  and  lined  their  faces,  till  they 
look  like  ancient  rocks,  thickly  covered 
with  deeply  graven  runes.  Such,  in  places, 
between  mountains,  stand  old  temples, 
relics  of  heathen  ages,  shrines  of  forgotten 
gods,  half  tottering  to  the  ground, — yet 
much  wise  lore  speaks  from  the  walls,  and 
many  paintings  tell  of  old  heroic  times. 

"Our  day  is  done,  "says  Bele,  "and  night 
is  coming  on  apace.     The  strongest  mead 


King  Bele  and  Thorsten          9 

tastes  flat  to  me,  and  heavy  feels  the 
helmet  to  my  brow.  For  earthly  sights 
my  eyes  grow  dim  ;  but  ever  nearer  shines 
Valhalla's  light.  My  time  is  brief.  There- 
fore, my  friend,  I  have  sent  for  our  sons, 
my  two  and  thy  one.  They  should  be 
firmly  knit  in  love,  as  thou  and  I  have 
been.  And  some  warning  words  I  fain 
would  speak  to  the  young  eagles  ere  I 
go :  not  many  more  will  they  hear  from 
these  old  lips." 

Even  as  he  spoke,  the  youths  came  in  : 
Helge,  the  eldest,  first,  with  gloomy  brow 
and  sullen  eye.  He  was  mostly  found 
with  priests  and  seers,  by  the  great  altar- 
stone  ;  and  even  now,  as  he  approached 
his  father,  his  hands  were  bloody  from 
the  sacrifice.  He  was  followed  by  the 
lad  Halfdan,  with  sunny  locks,  of  noble 
countenance,  but  too  soft :  it  almost 
seemed  as  though  he  wore  the  sword  for 
play — a  maid  in  warrior's  guise.  Frith- 
jof  came  last,  by  a  head  the  tallest  of  the 
three,  and  stood  between  the  King's  sons 
as  the  full  noon  between  dawn  and  dusk. 

"  Sons,"  spoke  the  King,   "  my  day  is 


io  Frithjof 

sinking  low,  and  yours  will  soon  be  break- 
ing. As  ye  are  brothers,  so  be  friends, 
and  rule  the  land  in  harmony.  Let  Power 
stand  guard  at  the  borders,  but  Peace 
hold  gentle  sway  within,  in  your  safe  keep- 
ing. Your  swords  should  not  threaten, 
but  protect ;  your  shields  should  be  the 
padlocks  on  the  peasant's  barn.  For 
kings  can  do  nothing  without  the  people, 
as  the  tree's  leafy  crown  soon  withers  if 
its  roots  plunge  into  barren  soil,  which 
yields  the  sap  but  grudgingly  to  the  trunk. 
Be  never  hard,  King  Helge, — only  firm. 
Remember  that  the  best-tempered  steel 
bends  most  easily.  Graciousness  becomes 
a  king  as  flower-wreaths  a  shield ;  and 
spring's  mild  breath  opens  the  earth  which 
wintry  frost  but  hardens.  A  friendless 
man,  however  strong,  dies  as  the  lonely 
tree  bereft  of  its  bark.  But  in  the  midst 
of  friends  thou  art  safe  as  the  forest  tree, 
sheltered  from  storms,  whose  roots  drink 
from  the  living  brook.  Thou,  Half  dan, 
be  mindful  that  cheerfulness  graces  the 
wise  man,  but  that  frivolity  ill  beseems  a 
king.  Honey  alone  makes  not  the  mead 


King  Bele  and  Thorsten         n 

— it  needs  the  bitter  hops  ;  a  sword  should 
be  of  steel,  and  a  king  should  be  half 
earnest  even  in  his  play.  And,  Half  dan, 
the  way  to  a  comrade,  a  faithful  friend,  is 
short,  however  distant  his  home ;  but  it 
is  long  to  a  foe's  house,  even  though  it 
lay  close  by  the  road.  Do  not  place 
confidence  in  everyone,  unthinkingly. 
Choose  one  to  trust,  and  look  not  for 
another ;  for  what  is  known  to  three  will 
soon  be  known  to  all." 

Here  Thorsten  rose  ;  he  too  had  weighty 
words  to  speak  : 

"  It  is  not  meet,  O  King,  that  thou 
shouldst  go  to  Odin  all  alone.  We  shared 
alike  the  changeful  gifts  of  life  ;  methinks 
the  death-lot  should  be  ours  in  common 
too.  Son  Frithjof,  mark  me  ;  for  age  has 
whispered  many  a  thing  into  my  ear. 
Odin's  birds  dwell  on  graves  in  the  far 
North,  and  they  bring  words  of  wisdom 
to  the  lips  of  the  dying.  Honour  the 
gods,  who  send  us  pain  and  joy,  as  sun- 
shine and  storm,  from  heaven,  who  see 
into  the  heart's  most  secret  chamber,  be 
it  never  so  closely  locked.  Obey  the 


t2  Frithjof 

King, — one  hand  should  wield  the  royal 
power.  Envy  not  him  whose  place  is 
above  thine  :  the  sword  needs  must  have 
a  hilt  as  well  as  a  blade.  Great  bodily 
might  is  a  gift  of  the  gods  ;  but,  Frithjof, 
the  gift  is  worthless  unless  joined  with 
wit :  the  bear,  with  the  strength  of  twelve 
men,  must  yield  to  one.  The  day,  my 
son,  should  not  be  praised  before  the 
evening,  nor  mead  before  't  is  drunk,  nor 
men's  advice  before  the  event  has  proved 
it  good.  So  friends  are  proven  true  in 
need,  and  steel  in  battle.  Therefore  put 
not  thy  trust  in  ice  of  one  night's  freez- 
ing, nor  in  spring  snow,  not  in  the  sleep 
of  snakes,  nor  in  woman's  uncertain  mind. 
Thyself  must  surely  die  and  all  that's 
thine  must  pass  away ;  but  one  thing 
must  as  certainly  endure  :  it  is  the  name 
that  thou  wilt  leave  behind  ;  so,  Frithjof, 
turn  thee  from  evil,  bend  thy  will  to  what 
is  good  and  noble,  and  do  right.  Thus 
wilt  thou  not  have  lived  in  vain." 

Many  more  were  the  loving  words  spoken 
by  the  old  warriors  on  that  day.  They 
told  the  youths  of  their  long  friendship, 


King  Bele  and  Thorsten         13 

famous  in  the  Northern  lands,  and  how, 
through  joy  and  sorrow,  peace  and  strife, 
they  had  stood  together,  hand  in  hand, 
united  until  death.  The  King  spoke 
much  of  Frithjofs  valour  and  heroic 
might — gifts  to  be  prized  above  royal 
blood  ;  and  Thorsten  said  much  in  praise 
of  the  crown  and  the  glory  of  Norseland's 
kings.  And  both  bequeathed  their  friend- 
ship to  their  sons  as  a  treasure  of  great 
price. 

"If  you  three  keep  together  through  life 
as  ye  stand  here  before  me,"  King  Bele 
said,  "the  man  does  not  live  in  the  North 
who  can  prevail  against  you.  And  now," 
he  added,  "  take  my  greeting  to  my 
daughter,  my  red  rose.  She  has  grown 
up  in  rural  retirement — such  was  my  will. 
Shelter  her  still,  that  the  rude  storm-winds 
may  not  pluck  or  break  the  tender  flower. 
To  thee,  O  Helge,  as  to  a  father,  I  commit 
the  care  of  her — as  a  daughter  love  her, 
my  Ingeborg  !  But  remember  that  stern- 
ness angers  a  noble  heart,  and  that  gentle- 
ness alone  leads  it,  be  it  man's  or  woman's, 
to  honour  and  right  doing.  When  we  are 


14  Frithjof 

gone,  lay  us  in  two  mounds,  which  ye 
shall  raise  one  on  each  side  of  the  blue 
bay  ;  its  waves  shall  sing  our  dirge.  And, 
Thorsten,  when  the  pale  moon  pours  on 
the  mountains  her  silver  sheen,  and  the 
midnight  dew  lies  cool  upon  the  fields, 
thou  and  I,  old  friend,  will  still  commune 
together  as  of  old,  from  hill  to  hill,  upon 
the  happenings  of  the  day.  And  now, 
sons,  fare  ye  well !  Go  back  to  your  work 
and  play.  For  us,  our  way  lies  to  All- 
Father's  halls, — the  place  of  rest,  for 
which  we  long  as  long  the  weary  rivers  for 
the  sea.  Go,  and  the  grace  of  Frey,  and 
Thor,  and  Odin  go  with  you  ! " 


Ill 

FRITHJOF'S  THREE    HEIRLOOMS 

BELE  and  Thorsten,  the  two  friends, 
had  been  laid  in  the  mounds  on  each 
side  of  the  bay,  as  they  had  'ordered. 
Helge  and  Halfdan  were  elected  joint 
kings  by  the  people  at  a  general  meeting. 
Frithjof,  being  an  only  son,  had  no  one 
with  whom  to  share  his  inheritance  and  at 
once  entered  the  homestead  at  Framnas 
as  master. 

Truly,  a  fair  inheritance  :  hills  and  val- 
leys and  woods,  three  miles  each  way,  with 
the  sea  as  boundary  on  one  side.  The 
heights  were  crowned  with  birchwood,  and 
where  they  gently  sloped,  the  golden  bar- 
ley ripened  in  the  sun,  and  rye  so  tall  a 
man  might  hide  in  it.  Lakes  not  a  few 
mirrored  the  mountains  and  the  forests 
15 


1 6  Frithjof 

where  an  tiered  elks  stalked  majestic  and 
drank  from  a  hundred  streams.  And  in 
the  valleys  the  sheltered  pastures  were  gay 
with  herds  of  kine,  sleek  and  heavy-ud- 
dered,  and  dotted  with  sheep,  white  and 
fleecy  as  the  cloudlets  which  the  spring 
breeze  drives  across  the  sky.  And  in  the 
stables  there  stood,  in  stately  rows,  twice 
twelve  fiery  steeds,  winds  in  harness,  their 
manes  braided  with  red  ribbons,  their 
hoofs  glistening  with  polished  shoes. 

But  the  wonder  of  the  place  was  the 
banquet  -  hall,  a  palace  in  itself,  solidly 
built  of  fir  trunks,  well  fitted.  Six  hun- 
dred guests  hardly  filled  it  at  the  great 
Yuletide  feast.  The  board,  of  oak, 
stretched  the  whole  length  of  the  hall, 
waxed  to  a  polish  as  bright  as  steel.  The 
dais  at  the  host's  end  was  adorned  with 
two  statues  of  gods  carved  out  of  elm- 
wood  :  Odin,  with  royal  mien,  and  Frey, 
with  the  sun  on  his  brow.  Between  the 
two  was  the  host's  seat,  coveted  with  a 
huge  bearskin,  black,  with  scarlet  mouth 
and  silver-mounted  claws.  It  seemed  but 
yesterday  that  Thorsten  sat  there,  gravely 


Frithjof's  Three  Heirlooms      17 

yet  genially  entertaining  his  friends  with 
many  a  wondrous  tale  of  foreign  lands,  of 
vikings'  ventures  on  the  seas.  Deep  into 
the  night  they  would  sit,  listening  en- 
tranced, while  the  great  logs  blazed  high 
in  the  deep  stone  hearth  in  the  middle  of 
the  hall,  and  the  stars  peered  down  through 
the  wide  smoke -escape  in  the  roof, 
and  the  fire-light  played,  gleaming  and 
glinting,  on  the  armours  which  hung  all 
round  the  walls,  with  a  sword  between 
each  two,  flashing  every  now  and  then, 
like  a  shooting  star  on  a  winter  night. 

Great  wealth  was  stowed  away  in  the 
dwelling-house  ;  cellars  and  garrets, 
closets  and  storerooms  overflowed  with 
substance.  Nor  was  there  lack  of  pre- 
cious things  taken  in  war  or  given  in  gra- 
cious token  of  friendship.  Of  these 
family  treasures  three  were  prized  above 
all  other  possessions  by  Thorsten,  and 
now  by  his  son. 

The  first  and  most  peerless  was  the 
sword  Angurwadel,  own  brother  to  the 
lightning.  It  had  been  forged  and  tem- 
pered by  wizard  dwarfs,  so  went  the  story, 


1 8  Frithjof 

and  first  worn  by  the  hero  Bjorn  Blue- 
tooth ;  but  he  soon  lost  both  sword  and  life 
in  single  combat  against  bold  Wifell,  whose 
son  was  Viking,  Thorsten's  father.  When 
Viking  was  a  youth  of  fifteen  winters,  he 
and  Angurwadel  did  battle  with  a  savage 
Troll  and  slew  him.  The  giant  ap- 
peared in  the  land  of  a  feeble  and  aged 
king,  demanding  his  crown  and  only  child, 
a  lovely  daughter  of  tender  years,  unless  a 
champion  were  found  who  could  fight  and 
overcome  him.  There  was  no  such  cham- 
pion among  the  old  king's  men,  and  the 
poor  maid  would  surely  have  been  carried 
away  into  the  black  forest,  of  which  no 
man  had  ever  seen  more  than  the  outside 
belt  of  trees,  but  for  the  youth  and  his 
magic  sword.  With  one  stroke  Angur- 
wadel cut  in  two  the  bellowing  Troll,  and 
rescued  the  maid.  Now  Frithjof  owned 
it.  When  he  drew  it,  a  glory  filled  the 
hall  like  the  brilliancy  of  the  Northern 
light.  The  hilt  was  of  gold  and  the  blue 
steel  of  the  blade  was  graven  with  count- 
less runes,  which  showed  dull  in  times  of 
peace ;  but  in  battle,  or  when  the  owner's 


Frithjof  s  Three  Heirlooms      19 

heart  was  moved  in  anger,  they  burned 
and  glowed  in  ruby  red,  and  woe  to  them 
that  came  across  the  blazing  blade  'midst 
the  blackness  of  the  fray  ! — Great  was  the 
fame  of  that  sword  ;  it  was  known  far  and 
wide  as  the  best  in  all  the  North. 

Second  in  value  of  the  three  heirlooms 
was  a  massive  ring  of  purest  gold,  a  piece 
of  matchless  art,  the  work  of  Lame  Wau- 
lund,  the  divine  smith  of  the  North. 
Thick  it  was,  and  broad  and  heavy,  such 
as  might  fitly  encircle  a  hero's  arm.  And 
on  it  the  heavens  were  imaged,  with  the 
twelve  immortal  mansions  where,  month 
after  month,  the  sun  rests  in  his  course, 
and  Alfheim,  Prey's  own  House  of  Light, 
whence  the  young  sun  each  Yuletide  be- 
gins again  his  long  climb  up  to  the  top- 
most heaven.  There,  too,  in  the  hall  of 
the  gods  where  Odin  drinks  mead  in  a 
golden  cup,  Balder  sat  upon  his  throne 
— the  Midnight  Sun  ;  Balder  the  good, 
the  blameless  ;  then  Balder  dead,  upon  the 
funeral  pyre,  and,  further  still,  in  the 
realm  of  grewsome  Hela,  the  pitiless  ruler 
of  the  dead.  These  and  many  more  scenes, 


20  Frithjof 

all  telling  of  the  struggle  between  light 
and  darkness  in  the  heavens  above,  and 
below,  in  the  human  breast,  were  portrayed 
on  the  ring.  In  the  clasp  was  set  a  ruby 
of  enormous  size.  Through  a  long  line 
of  ancestors  on  the  mother's  side  the  ring 
had  come  down  to  Thorsten. 

Once  it  was  lost — stolen  by  a  pirate  of 
whom  nothing  was  known  but  that  he 
called  himself  Sote  and  roamed  the  North- 
ern seas.  Then  there  came  a  rumour 
that  Sote  had  landed  on  a  remote  shore 
and  had  gone,  alive,  into  a  huge  grave- 
mound,  into  the  vast  chamber  of  which, 
lined  with  well  cemented  slabs,  he  had 
taken  his  ship  and  all  his  treasures  ;  but 
that  he  had  not  found  rest,  and  ghostly 
doings  made  the  mound  a  terror  for  miles 
around.  Thorsten  heard  the  story.  He 
and  Bele  forthwith  mounted  their  dragon- 
ship,  sped  over  the  waves,  and  quickly 
reached  the  unknown  strand.  There  be- 
fore them  rose  the  mound,  looking  as  would 
a  gigantic  temple  if  it  were  domed  with 
sward.  Gleams  of  light  weirdly  shot  out  of 
it,  and  when  the  two  comrades  cautiously 


Frithjof  s  Three  Heirlooms      21 

peered  in  through  some  chinks  in  the 
massive  iron  door,  they  beheld  within  the 
pirate's  ship,  serpent-shaped,  pitch-black, 
all  equipped  with  mast  and  rudder,  and 
high  up  in  the  rigging  there  sat  a  frightful 
form,  in  a  fiery  mantle,  with  ireful  eyes, 
rubbing  away  at  a  blood-stained  sword- 
blade  ;  but  the  stains  would  not  go.  And 
all  around  him,  in  the  chamber,  lay  the 
gold-plunder,  scattered  and  in  heaps  ;  the 
ring  was  on  his  arm.  "Shall  we  go  in, "whis- 
pered Bele,  "  and  fight  the  horror  ?  Two 
men  against  a  fire-goblin  ?"  "  One  against 
one  is  champions'  law,"  retorted  Thorsten 
almost  angrily ;  "  I  will  dare  the  test 
alone."  Bele  would  not  hear  of  it,  and  they 
wrangled  long  and  eagerly  for  the  dan- 
gerous honour,  till  at  last  they  agreed  to 
cast  lots  in  Bele's  steel  helmet ;  they  shook 
it,  and  when  one  lot  was  taken  out,  Thorsten 
knew  it  for  his  own  in  the  pale  starlight. 
He  struck  the  door  with  his  lance,  and  so 
powerful  was  that  first  shock  that  bolt  and 
lock  gave  way ;  the  door  flew  open,  and 
he  descended  many  steps.  .  .  .  When 
people  asked  him  in  later  years  what  he 


22  Frithjof 

had  seen  that  night,  he  would  shudder 
and  keep  silence.  But  Bele,  who  listened 
anxiously  outside,  told  how  he  had  first 
heard  what  seemed  like  a  song  of  the  evil 
Trolls, — then  a  clanging,  as  of  swords  at 
deadly  play, — then  fearful  shrieks, — then 
sudden  stillness.  And  Thorsten  rushed 
out,  pale,  dazed,  half  witted — for  it  was 
Black  Surtur,  Death's  own  self,  with  whom 
he  had  wrestled.  But  the  ring  was  on  his 
arm.  And  in  after  times,  whenever  he 
showed  it,  he  would  say  : — "  This  ring  has 
cost  me  dear :  once  in  my  life  I  quaked 
with  fear — that  was  when  it  was  lost  and 
I  won  it  back." — Great  was  the  fame  of 
that  ring ;  it  was  known  far  and  wide  as 
the  finest  in  all  the  North. 

The  third  family  heirloom  was  the  ship 
Ellide.  A  strange  tale  was  told  of  how 
she  came  into  the  possession  of  Viking, 
old  Thorsten's  father.  One  day,  returning 
home  from  a  long  voyage,  he  was  sailing 
along  the  coast,  when  he  saw  a  dismasted 
wreck  swaying  on  the  gently  heaving 
waters,  and  on  it  sat  a  man,  who  seemed 
to  enjoy  the  play  of  the  sunlit  waves.  He 


Frithjof  s  Three  Heirlooms      23 

was  tall  of  stature  and  of  lofty  mien,  with  a 
countenance  open  and  cheery,  yet  change- 
ful as  the  sea  itself.  He  was  clad  in  a 
long  blue  mantle,  his  belt  was  of  gold, 
studded  with  red  corals ;  his  beard  was 
white  as  the  sea-foam  ;  his  locks  were  of 
a  dark  sea-green.  Viking  steered  for  the 
wreck,  took  off  the  man,  who  seemed  all 
drenched  and  chilled,  and  cared  for  him  at 
his  own  home,  with  food  and  drink,  by  his 
own  reviving  hearth-fire.  The  stranger 
accepted  the  care,  well  pleased  ;  but  when 
his  host  would  have  urged  him  to  rest  in 
his  own  warm  bed,  he  laughed,  and  said  : 
"  The  wind  is  good  enough  for  me,  nor  is 
my  ship  as  bad  as  thou  mayest  think  :  be- 
tween, now  and  night  it  will,  I  trow,  carry 
me  a  good  hundred  miles.  Have  hearty 
thanks  for  thy  kindly  urging.  Fain  would 
I  leave  thee  a  gift  to  remember  me  by ; 
but  my  substance  all  lies  in  the  deep. 
Still,  if  to-morrow  thou  shouldst  happen 
to  walk  the  way  of  the  beach,  and  thou 
shouldst  take  a  look  around,  thou  mayest 
perchance  find  something."  Next  day 
Viking  stood  on  the  beach,  when  lo ! 


24  Frithjof 

swift  as  the  sea-eagle  in  pursuit  of  its 
quarry,  a  dragon-ship  flew  into  the  river's 
mouth.  No  sailor  was  to  be  seen,  not 
even  a  steersman.  Yet  she  threaded  her 
way  in  and  out  between  the  cliffs  and 
banks,  as  though  instinct  with  mind.  As 
she  neared  the  strand,  the  sails  reefed 
themselves;  the  anchor  dropped  and  bit 
the  sand.  Viking  stood  gazing  in  speech- 
less wonder  ;  but  in  the  whisper  of  the 
playful  waves  he  plainly  heard  a  voice  : — 
"  God  ^gir,  ruler  of  the  seas,  was  thy 
guest  yesterday.  Mindful  of  his  debt  of 
kindness,  he  sends  thee  the  dragon — take 
his  gift." 

And  a  right  royal  gift  was  the  ship.  In 
her  shapely  sides  the  oaken  timbers  were 
not  joined,  as  usual,  by  practised  carpen- 
ter's hand,  but  grown  together  as  in  a  liv- 
ing body.  Long-stretched  as  a  sea-serpent, 
the  neck  rose  in  bold  yet  graceful  curves, 
carrying  high  the  head  with  red  mouth 
wide  open  ;  the  sides  were  blue,  gold- 
spotted  ;  at  the  stern  the  mighty  tail  un- 
coiled in  rings,  silver-scaled ;  the  wings 
were  black,  tipped  with  scarlet,  and  when 


Frithjof  s  Three  Heirlooms      25 

she  unfurled  them  she  could  keep  pace 
with  the  storm-wind  and  far  exceed  in 
fleetness  the  eagle's  flight.  When  filled 
with  men  in  armour,  she  seemed  like  a 
royal  city  or  a  swimming  castle. — Great 
was  the  fame  of  that  ship  ;  it  was  known 
far  and  wide  as  peerless  in  the  North. 

These  and  many  other  beautiful  things 
did  Frithjof  inherit  from  his  father.  A 
wealthier  heir  could  hardly  have  been 
found  in  the  Northern  lands,  unless  it 
were  among  the  sons  of  kings.  And  truly, 
if  not  of  royal  blood,  he  was  of  royal  soul 
— gentle,  and  generous,  and  of  lofty  mind, 
and  his  fame  grew  with  each  day.  Among 
his  men  there  were  twelve  grey-haired 
warriors,  Thorsten's  own  comrades,  princes 
among  men,  although  of  simple  birth,  like 
himself,  with  breasts  like  steel  corslets, 
and  broad  brows  all  scar-lined.  And  in 
their  midst,  upon  the  bench  of  honour, 
there  sat  a  youth — a  rose  in  a  wreath  of 
withered  leaves.  Bjorn  was  his  name. 
With  a  child's  joyousness  he  had  a  man's 
firmness  and  an  old  man's  wisdom.  He 
had  grown  up  with  Frithjof,  and  the  two 


26  Frithjof 

were  sworn  brothers :  they  had  mixed 
blood  and  drunk  it,  after  the  ancient  cus- 
tom, held  sacred  by  the  sons  of  the  North, 
and  exchanged  an  oath — to  share  good  and 
evil  fortune  through  life  and  to  avenge 
each  other  in  death. 

Now,  at  the  funeral  feast,  Frithjof  sat, 
a  tearful  host,  on  his  father's  seat,  hence- 
forth his  own,  between  Odin  and  Frey, 
listening  to  praises  of  the  dead,  from  the 
lips  of  friends  and  guests,  and  in  the  song 
of  heaven-taught  Skalds.  For  such,  of 
old,  was  the  custom  in  the  North. 


IV 

FRITHJOF'S    WOOING 

THE  earth  has  donned  once  more  her 
robe  of  green  ;  few  dragon-ships  still 
loiter  along  the  strand,  and  those  but  wait 
for  their  youthful  crews  to  take  them  out, 
on  foreign  ventures  bound,  as  is  Norse- 
men's wont.  But  Frithjof's  thoughts  do 
not  roam  the  seas  ;  he  seeks  the  solitude 
of  the  woods,  these  moonlit  nights  of 
lovely  May. 

A  few  short  days  ago  he  was  the  proud- 
est, the  happiest  of  men  :  he  had  bidden 
the  young  Kings  to  be  his  guests  at  Fram- 
nas,  and  Ingeborg  had  come  with  them. 
The  two  had  sat  together,  hand  in  hand, 
and  their  talk  had  been  of  their  common 
childhood,  when  each  day  glistened  with 
the  morning  dew  of  life.  They  had  wan- 
27 


28  Frithjof 

dered  together  over  rich  meadows  and  in 
shady  groves,  and  she  had  uttered  many  a 
little  cry  of  joy  as  she  found  her  own 
name  cut  in  the  silvery  bark  of  the  hand- 
somest birches.  But  it  was  with  a  sigh 
that  she  confessed  to  her  friend  : 

"  How  much  better  I  feel  here  than  in 
the  royal  castle  !  For  Half  dan  is  boyish 
and  Helge  is  harsh.  One  wants  coaxing 
and  the  other  obedience.  And  there  is 
no  one "  (here  she  blushed  like  a  wild 
rose) — "  no  one  to  whom  I  could  confide 
a  trouble,  a  sad  thought.  How  different 
it  was  in  our  dear  old  Hildingsdale  !  The 
doves  which  we  did  raise  together  have 
been  scared  away  by  the  hawks.  Only 
one  pair  is  left :  take  thou  one,  and  I 
will  cherish  the  other.  If  thou  tie  a  mes- 
sage under  its  wing  and  let  it  go,  it  will 
straightway  seek  its  mate." 

As  the  spring  whispers  in  the  green 
lindens,  so  they  whispered  to  each  other 
all  day  long  ;  they  were  whispering  still 
when  the  sun  went  down. 

Now  she  was  gone,  and  all  Frithjof's 
joyousness  had  gone  with  her.  In  a  day 


Frithjof's  Wooing  29 

or  two  he  wrote  a  loving  message  and 
sent  off  the  dove  with  it,  but  received  no 
answer,  for  the  bird  would  not  leave  its 
mate  again. 

This  state  of  things  was  not  at  all  to 
Bjorn's  liking,  and  he  wondered  to  him- 
self :  "  What  can  have  made  our  young 
eagle  so  still  and  moody  ?  What  shot  has 
pierced  his  breast  or  lamed  his  wing? 
Surely  there  is  no  lack  here  of  meat  or 
honeyed  mead,  and  there  are  Skalds 
enough,  in  faith,  for  them  that  love  their 
never-ending  songs.  What  can  he  be 
pining  for?" 

The  steeds  stamp  the  stable  floor  with 
impatient  hoof,  the  falcons  wildly  shriek 
for  quarry  ;  Ellide  sways  restlessly  in  the 
harbour,  tugging  at  her  anchor  :  Frithjof 
heeds  them  not,  but  still,  day  after  day, 
broods  in  silence  and  alone. 

At  last,  one  morning,  he  loosed  the 
dragon-ship's  bonds — she  bounded  from 
her  moorings,  and,  steered  by  his  will,  bore 
him  straight,  with  swelling  sails,  across  the 
bay,  to  where  the  Kings  sat  on  Bele's 
grave-mound,  holding  open  court  of  just- 


30  Frithjof 

ice.  Proudly,  yet  respectfully,  Frithjof 
stood  before  them,  and  spoke,  without  de- 
lay or  preamble,  what  was  in  his  heart : 

"  Fair  Ingeborg,  ye  Kings,  I  love  as  my 
own  soul,  and  crave  her  at  your  hands  for 
my  dear  bride.  Such  surely  was  King 
Bele's  intent,  for  it  was  by  his  will  we  grew 
up  together  in  Hilding's  keeping.  True, 
my  father  was  neither  king  nor  earl,  yet 
his  name  will  live  in  song  for  many  a  year ; 
the  story  of  our  race  is  told  in  runes  on 
many  honoured  graves.  I  could  easily  win 
me  a  kingdom,  but  I  would  liefer  stay  at 
home  and  take  care  of  your  kingdom  for 
you — guarding  your  royal  castle  and  the 
poor  man's  hut  alike.  We  are  here  on 
Bele's  mound — he  hears  me  as  I  sue  to 
you ;  hear  ye,  his  sons,  his  voice  as  he 
speaks  to  you  from  the  grave  ! " 

Then  King  Helge  started  angrily  to  his 
feet,  and  spoke  in  scornful  tones  : 

"  Our  sister  is  not  for  the  bonder's  son. 
The  daughter  of  the  gods  must  wed  with 
royal  blood.  Though  thou  shouldst,  by 
force  of  arms,  compel  men  to  hail  thee 
greatest  of  Norseland's  sons,  never  shall 


Frithjof  s  Wooing  31 

maid  of  Odin's  blood  mate  with  a  low- 
born adventurer.  Nor  is  there  any  call 
for  thee  to  take  thought  for  my  realm ; 
I  can  hold  it  and  care  for  it  myself.  But 
I  would  fain  have  thee  my  retainer :  there 
is  a  place  free  among  my  men-at-arms — 
thou  art  welcome  to  it." 

"  Man  of  thine  I  will  never  call  myself," 
Frithjof  answered  quick,  in  clarion  tones ; 
"  I  will  be  my  own  man,  as  my  father  was 
before  me.  Stand  by  me,  Angurwadel ! 
Too  long  hast  thou  been  idle  ! " 

And  as  he  spoke,  the  blue  lightning  of 
the  steel  flashed  forth  from  the  silver 
scabbard  ;  the  runes  upon  the  blade  burned 
in  angry  red. 

"  Thou  black-hearted  King  ! "  quoth 
Frithjof  sternly,  "  were  this  spot  not  hal- 
lowed by  the  peace  of  a  beloved  grave, 
my  trusty  sword  should  teach  thee  a  les- 
son. As  it  is,  thou  hadst  best  heed  my 
warning :  see  thou  comest  not  too  near  its 
range ! " 

And  turning  to  where  King  Helge's 
golden  shield  hung  on  a  limb  of  the  oak 
beneath  which  he  sat,  Frithjof  with  one 


32  Frithjof 

mighty  stroke  cleft  it  in  twain  :  the  halves 
fell  to  the  ground  with  loud  clang,  and  the 
hollow  mound  echoed  the  ominous  sound. 
"  Well  done,  friend  Angurwadel !  "  cried 
the  youth.  "  Now  lie  still  and  dream  of 
nobler  deeds  ;  thy  blazing  runes  extinguish 
for  a  while.  Home  now,  across  the  blue 
waters — home  !  " 


KING    RING 

THE  feast  was  ended.  King  Ring 
pushed  back  his  carved  gilt  chair. 
Warriors  and  Skalds  arose,  to  hear  their 
liege's  words ;  for  his  wisdom  and  piety 
were  famed  in  all  the  lands  of  the  North. 
His  own  land  was  as  a  pleasure-ground  of 
the  gods.  Never  did  those  verdant  val- 
leys, those  shady  woods,  resound  with  the 
evil  noises  of  war.  Peacefully  the  crops 
ripened  there,  and  the  roses  bloomed. 
Justice  sat  enthroned,  severe  yet  gracious, 
on  the  granite  judgment-seat.  Peace 
alone  paid  the  State's  yearly  dues,  in 
golden  grain,  heaped  high  on  the  ground, 
more  precious  far  than  coined  ore.  Black- 
breasted  ships  sailed  the  waters  with  white 
pinions,  sent  from  a  hundred  lands, 

33 


34  Frithjof 

freighted  with  riches  for  the  rich.  And 
freedom  dwelt  with  peace  in  happy  har- 
mony. Loved  as  a  father,  the  old  King 
ruled  ;  yet  the  people's  voice  was  raised 
without  fear  or  restraint  at  the  Ting- 
meetings,1  and  every  man  was  free  to 
speak  his  mind  there.  Thus  for  thirty 
years  peace  and  prosperity  had  dwelt 
together  under  such  gentle  rule. 

And  now,  when  King  Ring  pushed  back 
his  carved  gilt  chair  from  the  banquet- 
table,  all  rose  expectant,  to  hear  the 
words  that  would  fall  from  his  honoured 
lips.  But  he  sighed,  and  his  speech  was 
sad : 

"  On  purple  couch  my  queen  reclines  in 
Freya's  happy  bowers  above — Freya,  the 
goddess  of  love  and  beauty ;  but  here  be- 
low the  grass  is  green  upon  her  grave,  and 
flowers'  perfume  lingers  around  her  mound. 
Never  may  I  find  another  wife  so  sweet, 
so  fair,  a  mate  so  queenly  on  the  throne. 
She  has  found  her  guerdon  in  Valhalla, 

1  Ting,  Anglo-Saxon  Thing — general  meeting  of  the  peo- 
ple, to  discuss  important  questions.  From  the  Ting's  de- 
cision there  was  no  appeal. 


King  Ring  35 

but  vainly  land  and  children  call  for  their 
gracious  queen  and  mother.  King  Bele 
has  many  a  time  been  our  guest,  here  in 
this  very  hall.  He  left  a  daughter.  Her 
have  I  chosen  in  my  mind.  True,  she  is 
but  young,  just  budding  into  bloom,  play- 
mate of  lilies  and  of  roses,  while  many  a 
winter's  snow  lies  on  my  scanty  locks. 
Still,  should  she  find  in  her  heart  some 
love  to  give  an  honest  man,  even  though 
age  have  already  marked  his  brow,  and 
womanly  care  for  tender  motherless  babes, 
then  fain  would  my  winter  share  with  her 
spring  this  throne.  Go  then,  my  trusty 
ones,  to  her,  with  gold  and  bridal  gear 
from  the  old  oaken  safe,  and  ye,  Skalds, 
follow  with  song  and  harp,  for  festive 
strains  should  brighten  the  solemn  royal 
wooing." 

As  the  King  ordered,  so  was  it  done. 
Warriors  and  Skalds,  with  attendants 
many  and  well  equipped,  a  long  proces- 
sion, bearing  gifts  and  honourable  offers, 
set  forth  to  seek  King  Bele's  sons. 

And  right  royally  they  were  received — 
entertained  in  state  for  three  whole  days. 


36  Frithjof 

But  on  the  fourth  morning  they  asked 
what  answer  they  should  take  home,  as 
they  might  not  tarry  longer. 

Then  King  Helge  summoned  the  high- 
priest  and  his  assistants,  that  they  might, 
with  all  due  ceremonies  and  sacrifices,  in- 
quire into  the  will  of  the  gods  in  a  matter 
of  so  much  import  to  Bele's  royal  house. 
The  sacred  falcon  was  brought  forth,  the 
steed  was  led  into  the  grove  where  stood 
the  sacrificial  altar-stone,  in  the  mysterious 
dusk  of  overarching  murmuring  boughs, 
and  the  sacred  acts  were  performed  amid 
a  deep,  awed  silence,  broken  only  by  the 
chanted  prayers  or  muttered  words  of 
meaning  known  only  to  the  priests.  At 
last  the  divine  verdict  was  proclaimed  : 
fear  and  dismay  fell  on  those  that  heard. 
The  falcon's  flight  was  low  and  timid  and 
in  the  wrong  direction.  The  victim's 
heart  and  lungs  were  unhealthy  and  ill- 
placed.  Indeed,  so  disastrous  were  the 
signs  that  King  Helge,  terrified  and  trem- 
bling, rejected  King  Ring's  wooing  on  the 
spot,  and  bade  his  messengers  depart  with- 
out delay. 


King  Ring  37 

King  Halfdan,  always  light-hearted, 
laughed  loud  and  thoughtlessly. 

"  Farewell,  ye  feasts  and  festivals  ! "  he 
cried.  "  Oh,  were  King  Greybeard  but 
here  himself !  Right  lustily  would  I  help 
his  old  limbs  into  the  saddle  ! " 

The  envoys  departed,  bitterly  angered. 
They  told  their  story  to  King  Ring,  spar- 
ing no  detail  of  their  insulting  dismissal. 
He  said  little,  but  his  words  were  grim  : 

"  King  Greybeard  will  yet  show  the 
youngsters  that  he  is  not  too  old  to 
avenge  his  honour." 

He  struck  with  his  spear  the  iron  shield — 
the  clang  of  which  summons  the  people  to 
arms,  high  and  low — where  it  hung  in  the 
open  field  on  the  boughs  of  an  ancient  lin- 
den tree.  The  dragon-ships  came  crowd- 
ing in,  with  blood-red  crests  ;  the  helmets 
nodded  in  the  breeze.  War-heralds  hur- 
ried right  and  left. 

King  Helge  heard,  and  was  greatly  per- 
turbed in  mind  ;  for,  though  arrogant  and 
hard  of  heart,  he  was  not  brave.  He  knew 
that  King  Ring  was  very  powerful,  and, 
though  he  loved  not  war,  would,  if  he  once 


38  Frithjof 

took  the  field,  be  a  most  dangerous  foe, 
for  he  was  wise  and  skilled  in  the  deadly 
game,  and  his  people  loved  him  and  would 
follow  him  to  the  world's  end,  and  fight 
for  him  unto  death.  Knowing,  too,  that 
their  first  object  would  be  to  carry  away 
Ingeborg,  he  ordered  her  to  retire  into 
the  enclosure  of  Balder's  temple,  thus 
placing  her  in  the  pure  and  gentle  keep- 
ing of  the  best-loved  among  the  gods. 
Not  that  the  place  offered  safety  from  at- 
tack,— the  enclosure  was  but  wood,  and 
not  otherwise  fortified.  But  it  was,  to  all 
the  Norse  people,  the  most  sacred  of  all 
sanctuaries,  and  a  woman  or  maid  who 
had  taken  refuge  there  was  secure  from 
the  approach  of  man  :  pain  of  death  stood 
on  the  violation  of  this  sanctuary. 

There  loving  Ingeborg  sat  day  after 
day,  sad  and  fearful  of  what  the  next 
might  bring.  And  as  she  bent  over  her 
embroidery  frame,  plying  her  needle,  sort- 
ing her  silks  and  gold  threads,  many  a  tear 
fell  on  it  or  rolled  unchecked  upon  her 
bosom :  not  purer  the  morning  dew  on 
the  lily  of  the  valley  ! 


VI 


FRITHJOF   PLAYS  CHESS 

CRITHJOF,  meanwhile,  had  not  yet 
made  up  his  mind  to  go  to  sea  like 
his  comrades,  and  leave  his  love  to  Helge's 
untender  care.  He  lived  on,  moody  and 
moping,  in  the  seclusion  of  his  freehold  of 
Framnas ;  and  his  faithful  Bjorn,  though 
chafing  and  puzzled  at  the  unwonted  idle- 
ness, stayed  loyally  with  him.  They  found 
little  matter  for  converse,  and  spent  much 
of  the  slow-dragging  time  at  the  chess- 
board. One  day,  as  they  were  fighting  a 
particularly  hard  battle  with  the  gold  and 
silver  men  and  pawns,  old  Hilding,  Frith- 
jof's  foster-father,  entered  with  ill-boding, 
clouded  -brow.  Frithjof  welcomed  him 
most  cordially : 

"  Sit  here  by  me  on  the  bench,      Rest 

39 


40  Frithjof 

thee  and  ply  the  drinking-horn,  while  I 
give  my  mind  to  these  few  last  moves, 
which  must  lead  me  to  certain  victory." 

But  Hilding  had  that  to  say  which 
brooked  not  trifling  or  delay. 

"  Frithjof,"  he  began,  "  Bele's  sons  send 
me  to  thee,  with  words  of  peace.  Let  my 
voice  lend  weight  to  their  suing.  For  I 
come,  a  messenger  of  evil,  to  tell  thee  that 
the  country's  only  hope  lies  in  thee." 

"  Bjorn,"  said  Frithjof,  intent  on  the 
game,  as  though  he  had  not  heard  the  old 
man's  solemn  pleading,  "danger  threat- 
ens thy  king.  A  common  pawn  alone 
can  save  him,  and  if  he  fail  him,  then 
must  the  king  fall — it  is  his  fate." 

"  Frithjof,"  the  old  man  began  again, 
"  listen,  and  mark  my  words  :  make  not 
light  of  the  eagles'  power.  Though  they 
may  quake  before  Ring's  might,  they  are 
strong  to  harm  the  likes  of  thee." 

"  Bjorn,  I  see  thou  wouldst  trap  my 
bishop  ;  but  he  can  meet  the  shock  :  see — 
he  retires  into  his  stronghold,  well  pro- 
tected." 

The  old  man  now  shifted  his  ground  : 


Frithjof  Plays  Chess  41 

"  Ingeborg  sits,  a  captive,  in  Balder's 
house,  and  weeps  her  days  away.  Can- 
not she  lure  thee  into  action  with  her  blue 
eyes  tear-dimmed  and  sad  ?  " 

"  Bjorn,  and  wouldst  thou  hurt  my 
queen  ?  her  I  cherished  from  childhood's 
days  ?  the  best  and  dearest  in  the  game  ? 
Whatever  else  betide,  I  am  her  champion 
ever." 

"  Frithjof  !  Frithjof  ! "  the  old  man 
exclaimed  angrily  at  last,  "  wilt  thou 
not  hearken?  Shall  thy  foster-father 
hie  him  home  unanswered,  because,  for 
sooth,  a  silly  game  will  not  be  played  to 
an  end?" 

Then  the  youth  rose,  and  taking  Hil- 
ding's  hand,  said  gravely  : 

"  Father,  thou  hast  thine  answer.  Me- 
thinks  I  have  made  my  meaning  plain. 
Ride  back  to  them  that  sent  thee,  and  let 
them  clearly  understand  :  after  the  insults 
they  have  heaped  on  me,  everything  is  at 
an  end  between  us ;  I  will  not  take  up 
arms  for  them." 

"Son,"  said  Hilding  sadly,  "thou  must 
e'en  choose  thine  own  way.  Thy  wrath 


42  Frithjof 

is  just — I  cannot  blame  it.     Yet  I  could 
wish  thou  mightst  forego  it.      May  Odin 
turn  all  things  for  the  best ! " 
Thus  spoke  he — and  was  gone. 


VII 

IN    BALDER'S    GROVE 

"  T    ET  Bale's  sons  send  out  the  war-call 
L*     from  vale  to  vale !      /  go  not  to 
the  field.      In  Raider's  halls — there  is  my 
battle-field,  there  is  my  world  ! " 

Such  was  the  sum  of  Frithjof's  brood- 
ings  after  Hilding's  ill-omened  visit.  All 
his  thoughts  now  centred  on  one  fierce  in- 
tent :  he  would  see  Ingeborg  once  more, 
would  speak  with  her,  assure  himself  that 
neither  wile  nor  violence  could  take  from 
him  the  love  that  was  the  sunshine  of  his 
soul.  At  peril  of  his  life  he  would  enter 
the  sacred  enclosure.  He  opened  his 
heart  to  his  blood-brother  Bjorn,  who  little 
recked  of  law  or  danger,  so  he  could  serve 
his  beloved  Frithjof.  They  consulted  to- 
gether and  decided  to  let  Ellide  take  them 

43 


44  Frithjof 

some  night  to  that  part  of  the  temple- 
grounds  which,  bordering  on  the  sea,  was 
easy  of  access,  unguarded  and  unbarred. 
They  managed  to  let  Ingeborg  know  of 
their  coming,  so  that  she  was  watching 
for  them,  and  met  Frithjof  a  short  dis- 
tance from  the  place  where  they  landed, 
as  he  made  his  way  alone  in  the  pale  dusk 
of  a  Northern  spring  night.  They  bent 
their  steps  from  the  strand  towards  the 
temple,  and  Frithjof,  feeling  the  maiden's 
slender  frame  tremble  on  his  supporting 
arm,  whispered  to  her  words  of  courage 
and  of  cheer : 

"  Beloved,  why  quakest  thou  ?  Thou 
hast  no  cause  for  fear.  Bjorn  stands  out 
there  with  bared  sword  and  warriors 
enough  to  guard  us,  should  need  be, 
against  a  world.  I  myself  would  brave  a 
world  for  thee,  to  hold  thee  thus.  'T  were 
joy  to  be  borne  away  to  Valhalla's  heights, 
-  wert  but  thou  my  Valkyrie l  :  to  have  thee 
bend  over  me  as  I  lie  on  the  bloody  field, 

1  The  Valkyries,  in  Norse  mythology,  were  the  heavenly 
maidens,  daughters  of  Odin,  who  chose,  by  his  command,  the 
warriors  who  were  to  fall  in  battle,  and  carried  them  to  Val- 
halla, the  abode  of  the  brave. 


IN  BALDER'S  GROVE. 


In  Balder's  Grove  45 

look  in  my  face  with  thy  dear  eyes,  then 
lift  me  on  thy  wind-winged  steed  ;  to  soar 
with  thee, — up,  up,  to  Odin's  heavenly 
halls, — what  fate  more  blessed  ?  What 
whisperest  thou  in  such  affright  ?  Is  it 
Balder's  wrath  thou  dreadest?  Why,  he 
cannot  be  wroth  with  us.  He  too  did 
love,  the  gentle  god,  was  faithful  unto 
death.  Did  he  not  love  sweet  Nanna,  his 
wife,  even  as  I  love  thee?" 

As  Frithjof  spoke,  they  entered  the 
temple.  Even  there  the  darkness  was  not 
so  dense  but  that  they  could  dimly  per- 
ceive the  god's  carved  image  in  its  promi- 
nent position.  He  drew  the  timid  maiden 
towards  it. 

"See!"  he  said;  "he  is  near.  How 
mildly  he  looks  down  on  us !  Come, 
bend  thy  knee.  There  is  no  sight  in  the 
wide  world  more  pleasing  in  Balder's  eyes 
than  two  hearts  plighting  their  troth  for 
life  and  death." 

The  prayer  which  Ingeborg  offered 
from  the  depth  of  her  pure  heart,  and  the 
many  soothing  words  uttered  in  her  friend's 
familiar  voice,  partly  banished  the  maiden's 


46  Frithjof 

anxious  fears.  It  did  not  seem  natural  to 
her  to  fear  when  he  was  with  her.  Nor 
could  she  feel  that  she  was  doing  any 
wrong  in  conversing  with  him  as  she  had 
done  all  her  life  unchidden.  So  the  hours 
sped  swiftly  on  in  loving,  innocent  com- 
muning. Still  she  did  not  forget  the  dan- 
ger which  Frithjof  was  challenging  by  his 
daring  deed,  and  it  was  she  who  noted  the 
signs  of  coming  day, — the  lark's  early 
song,  the  first  rosy  streak  of  dawn  ;  but 
not  before  the  sun  had  burst  forth  in  un- 
clouded splendour  could  Frithjof  tear  him- 
self away.  But  not  for  long.  Emboldened 
by  the  success  of  this  first  venture,  he  re- 
peated it  again  and  again,  and  these  nightly 
meetings  became  the  one  joy  of  the  two 
young  creatures  so  wantonly  parted  by 
one  man's  wicked  pride  of  rank. 


VIII 

FAREWELL 

ONE  night  Ingeborg  waited  more  anx- 
iously than  usual.  She  waited  long. 
In  the  first  hours  her  heart  beat  high  with 
hope.  As  the  night  waxed  older  it  sank 
lower  and  lower.  The  hours  dragged 
more  and  more  slowly,  and  hope  all  but 
died. 

"  Daybreak  ! "  she  thought,  "and  Frith- 
jof  cometh  not.  Ah  me,  but  man  is  hard  ! 
For  the  sake  of  his  pride — the  thing  he 
calls  his  honour ! — he  is  ever  ready,  with- 
out a  qualm,  to  crush  a  faithful  heart. 
Poor  woman  clings  to  his  breast  as  the 
humble  lichen  to  the  rock,  with  a  hundred 
little  tender  rootlets,  drawing  its  susten- 
ance from  the  tears  of  night." 

It   had   been    Ting-day.      The   people 

47 


48  Frithjof 

were  to  have  met,  presided  over  by  the 
Kings,  at  Dele's  grave.  With  many  prayers 
and  tears  untold,  and  a  thousand  coaxing 
ways,  Ingeborg  had  succeeded  in  winning 
Frithjofs  promise  that  he  would  seek 
the  Kings,  there,  in  the  presence  of  the 
dead  and  before  the  face  of  the  living,  to 
offer  them  his  hand  once  more  for  old 
friendship's  sake, — and  he  was  to  have 
come  to  her  straight  from  the  meeting. 
And  now  day  was  breaking,  and  he  had 
not  come !  In  her  long  night-vigil  she  had 
passed  through  all  the  stages  from  hope- 
ful joyousness  to  despair.  She  had  at  last 
even  come  to  acknowledge  herself  guilty 
in  having  defied  the  law  of  the  sanctuary. 
And  now  the  punishment  was  coming  :  she 
would  lose  Frithjof,  would  pay  with  a  life's 
misery  for  a  few  hours  of  unthinking  hap- 
piness. Yet  her  heart  rebelled  against 
the  sentence.  She  had  not  intended,  nor, 
she  thought,  done  any  wrong.  Could 
Balder,  the  mild,  the  loving,  frown  so 
sternly  on  a  maiden's  innocent  love  ?  But, 
as  the  hours  crept  on,  the  last  traces  of 
youth's  confidence  and  self-will  fell  from 


Farewell  49 

her,  and,  in  the  place  of  the  thoughtlessly, 
harmlessly  happy  girl,  there  stood  a  wo- 
man, braced  to  suffer  and  endure,  sternly 
resolved  to  meet  her  fate  in  solitude  and 
seclusion  as  bravely  as  the  hero  meets  his 
out  in  the  turmoil  of  the  world.  She  had 
but  just  schooled  herself  to  this  hardest  of 
all  lessons,  when  lo  !  Frithjof  stood  before 
her. 

"  At  last ! "  she  cried,  rushing  towards 
him.  "  So  late  !  Still  thou  comest.  Wel- 
come ! " 

But  a  glance  at  his  face  made  her  re- 
coil, terrified  :  she  read  nothing  but  evil  on 
that  gloomy  brow.  A  moment's  silence, 
to  collect  her  strength  ;  then  she  spoke  : 

"  Frithjof  !  tell  me  all.  The  worst  will 
scarcely  be  news  to  me  ;  I  have  felt  it 
coming  all  through  this  dreadful  night, 
and  am  prepared." 

Without  a  word  of  endearment  or  pre- 
amble, putting  a  strong  curb  on  his  pas- 
sion of  anger  and  sorrow,  Frithjof  began 
his  tale : 

"  I  came  to  the  Ting.  'T  was  held  on 
the  mound,  and  from  its  foot  up  the  sides, 


50  Frithjof 

to  the  very  top,  shield  to  shield,  hand  on 
hilt,  Norseland's  freemen  stood,  m  serried, 
orderly  ranks.  Upon  the  stone  judgment- 
seat  King  Helge  sat,  dark  as  the  thunder- 
cloud, and  by  him  Halfdan,  a  grown-up 
boy,  carelessly  leaning  on  his  sword.  I 
stepped  up  and  stood  before  them.  I 
spoke  : — '  King  Helge,  War  stands  at  the 
border  and  strikes  the  battle-shield.  Thy 
realm  is  threatened.  Give  me  thy  sister, 
and  my  arm  is  thine,  to  fight  thy  battles 
loyally.  Let  all  ill  feeling  be  forgotten — 
I  would  not  willingly  be  at  feud  with  In- 
geborg's  brother.  Cast  prejudice  away  ! 
With  one  word  thou  savest  thy  crown  and 
thy  sister's  heart.  Here  is  my  hand  :  by 
Thor  I  swear,  't  is  offered  for  the  last  time 
in  friendship.' — A  murmur,  as  of  stormy 
sea-waves,  swept  over  the  Ting ;  a  thou- 
sand swords  struck  applause  against  a 
thousand  shields.  And  voices  rose  here 
and  there,  and  swelled  into  one  mighty 
roar: — 'O  give  him  Ingeborg!  His  is 
the  best  sword  in  all  our  land.  Give  him 
Ingeborg!' — My  dear  old  foster-father, 
Hilding  with  the  silver  beard,  stood  up 


Farewell  51 

and  spoke  words  of  great  wisdom,  weighty 
as  a  practised  champion's  sword.  Even 
Half  dan  rose  from  the  royal  seat  and 
begged  for  us.  In  vain  !  The  sun  might 
as  well  expect  to  draw  flowers  from  the 
naked  rock  as  prayers  to  cause  a  human 
stirring  in  that  stony  breast  or  on  that 
pallid  phantom  face.  With  cold  contempt 
he  spoke  : — '  The  bonder's  son  might  even 
yet  call  Ingeborg  his  bride.  But  the  sacri- 
legious violator  of  the  sanctuary  would 
hardly,  methinks,  be  a  fit  mate  for  the 
daughter  of  Valhalla.  Speak,  Frithjof : 
didst  thou  not  break  the  peace  of  Balder's 
temple  ?  Didst  thou'  not  see  and  speak 
with  my  sister  there  at  night,  when  the  day 
hid  its  light  from  your  monstrous  deed? 
Yes,  or  No  ?  Speak  ! ' — A  shout  went  up 
from  the  ring  of  men  : — '  Say  "  No  ! "  We 
will  believe  thy  word  and  woo  for  thee  ! 
Thorsten's  son  is  the  equal  of  kings.  Say 
"No,"  and  Ingeborg  is  thine!' — 'The 
weal  or  woe  of  my  whole  life  hangs  on  a 
word,'  I  said;  'but  let  not  that,  O  King, 
dismay  thee :  I  would  not  buy  Valhalla's 
joys  by  a  lie,  certainly  not  those  of  earth. 


52  Frithjof 

Thy  sister  and  I  did  meet  and  speak  at 
night  in  Balder's  temple  ;  but  not  for  that 
did  I  break  the  peace  of  the  holy  place.' 
I  had  no  more  to  say.  A  groan  of  horror 
ran  through  the  Ting.  Those  nearest  me 
recoiled  and  fled,  as  I  had  suddenly  been 
pest-stricken.  Wherever  I  turned,  my 
glance  met  blanched  cheeks,  set  lips,  the 
stony  stare  of  fear.  Helge  had  won  the 
day  !  In  tones  low  and  ominous  as  those 
of  Vala,  the  dead  seeress,  when  she  pro- 
phesied to  Odin  the  fate  of  the  bright 
Asas l  and  dark  Hela's  victories,  he  spoke : 
'  Exile  or  death  is  what  our  fathers'  law 
leaves  me  free  to  order  for  such  a  deed  as 
thine.  But  I  will  be  merciful,  even  as 
Balder  is,  whose  sanctuary  thou  hast  dese- 
crated. Far  out  in  the  Western  sea  there 
lies  a  cluster  of  islands,  over  which  Earl 
Angantyr  holds  sway.  As  long  as  Bele 
lived,  the  Earl  sent  yearly  tribute  as 
agreed  between  them,  but  not  since  Bele's 
death.  Go — demand  the  tribute,  and 
bring  it  home  :  thus  mayest  thou  redeem 
thy  forfeit  life  and  honour.'  And  he  added 

1  Asas — the  "  bright  ones,"  the  gods. 


Farewell  53 

a  mean,  evil-minded  taunt : — '  Heavy  of 
hand  is  Angantyr  said  to  be,  and  to  roll 
in  gold,  like  Fafner,  the  dragon.  But 
how  should  even  a  new  Fafner  stand 
against  our  young  Sigurd  !  To  overcome 
him  truly  were  a  deed  more  worthy  of  a 
man  than  to  talk  a  maiden's  sense  away. 
Next  summer,  then,  we  shall  expect  to  see 
thee,  with  thine  honour  washed  clean — and, 
what 's  more,  with  the  gold.  If  not,  thou 
art  shamed  forever  before  the  world,  and 
banished  from  the  country  for  life.'  This 
was  the  sentence  ;  and  the  meeting's  end." 

Ingeborg  had  listened  with  all  her  soul, 
without  putting  in  a  word.  Now  she 
merely  asked : 

"Thy  resolve?" 

"Is  any  choice  left  me?"  he  answered 
bitterly.  "  Is  not  my  honour  bound  in 
this  behest?  I  must  redeem  it,  though 
Angantyr  did  hide  his  miserable  gold  in 
the  waters  of  Nastrand,  the  river  of  the 
dead.  This  very  day  I  sail." 

"  And  leavest  me  ? " 

"  Never  !     We  go  together." 

"  Impossible  ! " 


54  Frithjof 

"  Listen  ;  oh,  listen  first  !  Thy  wise 
brother,  in  his  malice,  forgot  that  An- 
gantyr  was  my  father's  friend  as  well  as 
Bele's.  He  may  give  me  the  gold  for  the 
asking.  If  not,  I  have  a  frien.d  of  elo- 
quence keener  than  mine — here  at  my  left 
thigh.  I  then  send  the  treasure  home  to 
Helge,  and  lift  the  curse  forever  from  our 
names.  But  we  ourselves — thou  and  I, 
my  Ingeborg, — we  bid  Ellide  take  us  into 
strange,  far-distant  seas,  to  milder  climes. 
What  is  the  North  to  me?  Let  the  poor 
slave  cling  to  the  soil  to  which  he  is 
bound ;  I  will  be  free  to  come  and  go,  as 
my  own  mountains'  wind.  A  little  dust 
from  my  father's  grave-mound  and  thine 
— that  is  all  we  care  to  take  of  our  native 
land.  And  then — beloved  !  there  is  a 
warmer  sun,  a  fairer  sky,  than  these — a 
sky  whose  stars,  divinely  bright,  look  down 
on  soft  summer  nights  upon  laurel  groves 
where  a  happy  pair  may  wander  unchid. 
My  father  used  to  tell  us,  on  long  winter 
evenings,  by  the  fitful  blaze  of  the  hearth, 
of  the  blue  seas  of  Greece  with  their  many 
isles,  where  once  upon  a  time  there  lived  a 


Farewell  55 

mighty  people,  whose  gods  dwelt  in  high 
marble  temples.  The  people  is  gone,  of 
the  temples  nought  is  left  but  here  and 
there  a  slender  column-shaft,  around  which 
are  twined  creepers  of  luxurious  growth, 
such  as  the  North  has  never  bred.  The 
earth  itself  is  beautiful  and  bears  a  plenty 
of  all  that  men  may  need  to  live  and 
thrive ;  golden  apples  of  wondrous  rich- 
ness glow  amidst  dark,  shining  foliage ; 
purple  grapes  hang  luscious  on  leafy  vines. 
There,  Ingeborg,  we  will  make  us  a  home, 
a  little  heaven  of  our  own.  Oh,  happi- 
ness can  be  reached — it  only  needs  the 
courage  to  grasp  and  hold  it.  Come ! 
Haste  !  Each  word  that  we  still  loiter  to 
speak,  but  steals  so  much  from  our  ap- 
pointed count  of  happy  days  and  hours. 
All  is  ready ;  Ellide  impatiently  spreads 
and  strains  her  dark  eagle  pinions,  eager 
for  the  distant  flight,  and  favouring  breezes 
blow  straight  from  these  shores,'  once 
friendly,  but  now  how  rude  and  unkind  ! 
But — how  is  this  ?  Hast  thou  no  word  ? 
So  grave?  So  cold?  Dost  doubt  me? 
hesitate?  .  ,  ," 


56  Frithjof 

Ingeborg  had  listened  to  Frithjof 's 
glowing  speech  sad  and  unresponsive,  al- 
though he,  carried  away  by  his  own  fancy, 
by  the  picture  which  stood  before  him 
more  and  more  vivid  as  his  own  words 
conjured  it,  did  not  at  first  notice  her  atti- 
tude. Now,  as  he  paused,  dismayed  at 
finding  her  so  unmoved,  she  said,  in  a  low, 
gentle  voice,  which  struck  a  chill  to  his 
heart : 

"  I  cannot  go  with  thee." 

"  Not  go  with  me?" 

"  Thou,  Frithjof,  in  all  this  misery,  art 
still  fortunate  :  thou  art  a  man,  thine  own 
master,  free  to  steer  thy  ship  at  thine  own 
will !  'T  is  not  so  with  me.  My  fate  is 
in  the  hands  of  others.  To  suffer,  re- 
nounce, pine  in  silence — so  live  and  so 
die — that  is  a  woman's  freedom,  king's 
daughter  though  she  be." 

"Not  so.  Thy  will  can  make  thee  free 
indeed.  Does  not  thy  father  sleep  in  yon- 
der mound?" 

"  Helge  is  my  father  now.  Such  was 
King  Bele's  will.  Oh,  believe  me,  this 
last  night — this  endless,  dreadful  night, 


Farewell  57 

when  I  watched  for  thee,  and  thou  earnest 
not — it  has  made  many  things  clear  to  me. 
I  have  chosen — my  place  is  here.  I  have 
done  with  childhood's  dreams.  .  .  .  And 
yet,  as  I  listened  to  thy  poet's  fancies,  of 
blessed  islands  in  a  summer  sea,  me- 
thought  the  old  familiar  voices  spoke  to 
me  again  out  of  those  same  dreams.  A 
moment's  weakness !  That  too  is  done 
with.  I  stay.  And  then — what  have  I 
to  seek  in  the  South,  child  of  the  North 
that  I  am  ?  I  would  sicken  with  longing 
for  my  own  pale  sun,  and  my  gaze  would 
hang  forever  on  the  Northern  star,  that 
sentinel  set  in  the  heavens  to  watch  over 
our  fathers'  graves.  And  as  for  thee — a 
man !  Why,  the  fair  wilderness  thou 
paintest  would  soon  become  the  grave  of 
thy  manhood  and  all  thy  deeds  to  be. 
Thy  shield  would  rust,  and  with  it  thy  free 
spirit.  No  !  that  shall  never  be  !  /  will 
not  be  the  one  to  steal  my  Frithjof's  name 
out  of  our  people's  songs,  to  be  sung  by 
Skalds  as  yet  unborn.  Be  wise,  my  friend. 
Let  us  not  idly  strive  against  our  fate. 
Out  of  our  life's  wreck  let  us  at  least  save 


58  Frithjof 

honour — for  happiness  is  gone.  We  must 
part." 

"  Why  must  we  ?  Because  thou  hadst 
a  sleepless  night  ?  " 

"  Because  my  honour  and  thy  worth  de- 
mand it." 

"  Woman  is  honoured  in  the  love  of 
man." 

"  Man  loves  not  longer  than  he  can 
respect." 

"  Senseless  whims  do  not  command  re- 
spect." 

Frithjof  was  fast  losing  control  of  him- 
self. His  voice  grew  harsh,  his  words 
bitter  and  cutting.  Disappointment  and 
despair  seemed  to  change  the  very  nature 
of  his  love,  and  he  would  almost,  at  that 
moment,  have  carried  Ingeborg  away  by 
force,  in  true  Viking  fashion.  It  was 
more  in  threatening  than  in  beseeching 
tones  that  he  at  last  said  warningly : 

"  Bethink  thee  well !  Is  this  to  be  thy 
last  word  ?  " 

"  I  have  thought  of  all.     It  is  the  last." 

"  So  be  it,  then ! "  he  cried  in  a  rage. 
"  Farewell,  Helge's  sister  !  " 


Farewell  59 

And  he  turned  to  go.  But  Ingeborg 
clung  to  him  : 

"  O  Frithjof,  Frithjof !  Not  thus  !  not 
thus  we  part !  Hast  thou  no  loving  glance, 
no  touch  of  gentle  hand,  for  thy  youth's, 
thy  childhood's  friend  ?  Thinkest  thou  I 
stand  on  roses,  and  send  my  whole  life's 
happiness  from  me  with  laughing  lips  ? 
Wert  thou  not  my  heart's  morning  dream  ? 
Every  joy  in  life,  all  that  is  great  and  no- 
ble, bore  in  my  thoughts  thy  semblance 
and  thy  name.  Now,  as  thou  goest  from 
me,  leave  me  not  an  image  blurred,  ob- 
scured !  Overwhelm  not  with  thy  harsh- 
ness the  sorrowful  soul  who  gives  up  the 
dearest  thing  she  holds,  be  it  here  or  in 
Valhalla's  halls !  The  sacrifice  is  hard 
enough,  in  sooth ;  surely,  a  word  of  com- 
fort we're  not  ill  bestowed  !  Full  well  I 
know  thou  lovest  me,  and  the  thought  of 
me  will  follow  thee  many  a  moon.  But 
the  wild  sea-life,  the  clash  of  arms,  must 
deaden  grief  in  time,  till  even  of  the  dearest 
memory  is  left  only  a  wan  and  pallid  shade, 
which  now  and  then  may  flit  before  thee 
in  the  morning  mist,  or  sit  by  thee  at  the 


60  Frithjof 

board,  as  thou  drainest  the  silver-mounted 
horn,  to  pledge  thy  comrades  in  the  hour 
of  victory.  But  I  and  my  grief  must  abide 
together  to  the  end.  In  widow's  weeds, 
alone  in  my  secret  bower,  my  only  pas- 
time— when  I  am  not  looking  out  upon  the 
sea  where  some  venturesome  keel,  like  thy 
own  Ellide's,  cuts  its  way  through  the 
foaming  waves — to  stitch  broken  lilies  into 
my  endless  tapestry,  until  a  spring,  more 
merciful  than  others,  takes  the  work  out 
of  my  hands,  and  for  each  poor  dead  lily 
strews  a  live  lily  over  my  grave.  Or,  if  I 
take  up  the  harp,  to  throw  all  my  long 
sorrow  into  song,  my  voice  breaks,  tear- 
choked,  as  now,  and " 

"  Enough  !  enough  ! "  cried  Frithjof,  all 
his  tenderness  reawakened  at  sight  of  his 
dear  playmate's  anguish.  "  Thou  hast 
conquered,  Bele's  daughter !  Weep  no 
more.  Forgive  my  harshness — 't  was  but 
love  disguised,  to  hide  its  hurt.  It  cannot 
wear  the  garb  of  anger  long.  Thou  art 
my  good  spirit — let  me  learn  from  thee, 
my  Vala  with  the  rosy  lips !  I  will  bow 
me  to  necessity ;  I  will  go  and  leave  thee  ; 


Farewell  6 1 

but  not  hope — that  I  will  take  across  the 
seas,  and  to  the  very  gates  of  death. 
Hear,  then,  my  vow  :  the  first  spring  day 
shall  see  me  back  here.  I  will  stand  be- 
fore Helge  free  from  guilt,  my  task  per- 
formed, my  honour  cleared,  my  pledge 
redeemed.  Then  will  I  demand  thee,  not 
of  him — oh  no  !  of  Norseland's  people,  in 
open  Ting ;  that  is  thy  rightful  guardian, 
thou  daughter  of  a  royal  race  !  Who  then 
gainsays  me — let  him  beware  ! — Till  then, 
farewell.  Be  true,  forget  not  me  ;  and  as 
a  pledge  and  token  of  our  love,  take  this 
arm-ring,  and  wear  it  till  I  claim  it  again 
— and  thee.  See  how  the  delicate  white 
arm  sets  off  great  Waulund's  work,  with 
the  heavenly  signs  so  cunningly  engraved 
on  it !  Farewell  awhile,  my  love,  my  bride 
— oh,  fare  thee  well !  A  few  moons  only 
— arid  the  tide  will  turn." 

He  went.  Ingeborg  watched  him  long 
and  wistfully,  her  own  sad  face  untouched 
by  the  glow  of  hope  which  lit  up  his  brow, 
but  now  so  gloomy  and  despondent.  Age 
seemed  to  have  suddenly  come  upon  her, 
with  its  sober  views,  its  fears, — its  power., 


62  Frithjof 

too,  to  face  and  bear  the  worst.  The 
pain  of  a  lifetime  was  in  the  smile  with 
which  she  spoke,  half  unwittingly,  words 
she  would  not  have  him  hear — not  yet ! 

"  My  noble  Frithjof  !  Almost  happy 
he  goes,  beguiled  by  his  own  daring  into 
hope.  The  point  of  his  good  sword  he 
would  set  against  the  breast  of  fate  itself 
and  cry,  '  A  vaunt ! '  Alas,  poor  Frithjof  ! 
Fate  goes  its  way  and  laughs  at  Angur- 
wadel.  Thou  little  knowest  that  dark 
brother  of  mine  even  yet.  'T  is  not  for  a 
hero's  open  mind  to  fathom  the  depths  of 
so  evil  a  nature,  a  breast  in  which  the 
fires  of  hate  and  envy  burn  unquenchable. 
He  give  thee  his  sister  ?  Never !  Rather 
his  crown,  his  life !  Me  he  would  first 
sacrifice  to  Odin  on  the  altar-stone — or 
else  to  Ring,  the  old  man  whom  he  has 
angered  into  war.  .  .  .  No  !  what- 
ever way  I  look,  I  see  no  gleam  of  hope ! 
But  I  am  glad  he  thinks  not  so.  Ye  kind 
gods  !  oh,  stand  by  him  and  leave  me  with 
my  grief  alone!  In  six  moons,  said  he? 
Yes.  He  will  come  back,  but  not  to 
Ingeborg  !" 


INQEBORQ'S  WATCH  BY  THE  SEA. 


IX 

ON   THE   HIGH   SEAS 

TNGEBORG  was  right  when  she  said 
*  that  a  generous  mind  could  never 
fathom  the  whole  depth  of  a  wicked  one. 
Frithjof,  as  he  busied  himself  with  getting 
Ellide  ready  for  the  long  and  dangerous 
voyage,  would  have  been  amazed  indeed 
could  he  have  seen  King  Helge  standing 
on  a  lonely  spot  of  the  wild  shore,  intent 
on  mysterious  incantations,  for  it  was  not 
generally  known  that  he  was  a  skilled 
wizard  and  had  learned  from  the  priests 
in  whose  society  he  spent  most  of  his  time 
not  only  how  to  worship  the  bright  and 
beneficent  powers, — the  gods, — but  also 
how  to  control  the  dark  and  evil  ones.  He 
was  now  holding  converse  with  two  mighty 
giants,  Heid  and  Ham,  the  Trolls  of  the 
63 


64  Frithjof 

storm-wind  and  of  the  snow-storm,  whom 
he  had  conjured  into  his  presence  and  was 
instructing  to  wreck  Ellide  on  the  high 
sea,  where  none  of  her  crew  might  escape. 

No  sooner  had  Ellide  put  out  of  the 
harbour  and  run  out  of  sight  of  the  shore 
than  the  Trolls  began  their  work.  Dark- 
ness as  of  descending  night  suddenly 
blackened  the  sky ;  waves,  seething  and 
heaving  as  from  the  lowest  deep,  lifted 
their  crests  of  foam  with  thundering  roar  ; 
the  sea-gulls  and  other  sea-birds  flew 
shrieking  and  in  wild  haste  they  knew  not 
whither.  Lightning  streaked  the  black- 
ness with  red  flame,  and  the  thunder  rolled 
and  rumbled  continuously  all  around  and 
overhead. 

Frithjof  knew  the  signs :  a  storm  was 
brewing,  such  as  is  not  often  met  even  in 
those  dangerous  seas.  But  the  prospect 
of  a  hard  fight  with  the  elements  rather 
suited  his  present  rebellious  mood.  Be- 
sides, he  trusted  in  the  powers  of  his 
magic  ship,  and  looked  forward  to  the 
conflict  as  to  a  more  than  usually  exciting 
game,  no  more.  So  he  rode  out  right  into 


On  the  High  Seas  65 

the  midst  of  it,  and  would  not  even  make 
for  any  of  the  islands  where  well-known 
harbours  might  have  afforded  him  shelter. 

"  It  was  pleasanter,  I  admit,"  he  said 
laughingly  to  Bjorn,  "to  sail  across  the 
mirror-like  bay  in  the  still  moonlight  and 
find  Ingeborg  waiting  in  Balder's  grove. 
But  a  doughty  Viking  loves  to  share  the 
wild  winds'  play.  My  Ingeborg  would 
blush  for  her  sea-eagle,  should  he  fly  land- 
ward, with  drooping  wing  lamed  by  a 
breath  of  wind." 

But  the  tempest  grows  fiercer  with 
every  minute ;  the  sea  seems  to  yawn 
down  to  its  very  bottom.  The  gale 
whistles  viciously  in  the  rigging,  timbers 
crack  ominously.  Still  Ellide  does  not 
quake,  but  bravely  holds  her  course,  leap- 
ing and  plunging  merrily  along,  like  a 
frolicsome  mountain  goat.  Now,  how- 
ever, the  storm  lashes  itself  into  wilder 
fury  still.  A  wintry  chill  spreads  through 
the  air,  hail  rattles  against  the  shields 
hung  along  the  sides  of  the  ship,  and 
snow  quickly  covers  the  deck.  Seas 
mountain-high  at  the  same  time  rush 


66  Frithjof 

upon  the  doomed  ship  from  both  sides, 
and,  as  they  clash  and  break,  deluge  and 
sweep  her  from  poop  to  prow.  She  quiv- 
ers as  she  emerges,  half  buried,  from  the 
grave  which  must  reopen  soon — and  then 
even  she,  Ellide,  though  built  by  no  hu- 
man hands,  must  give  up  the  fight. 

Now,  such  a  storm,  with  frost  and  driv- 
ing snow,  is  unnatural  in  summer,  and  even 
unsuspecting  Frithjof  suddenly  guessed 
the  truth. 

"  Bjorn  ! "  he  shouted  in  a  voice  that 
was  heard  above  the  din  and  howl,  "  come, 
take  the  helm  ;  hold  it  for  thy  life.  A 
storm  like  this  never  came  from  Valhal- 
la's powers.  Witchcraft  is  at  play.  This 
is  some  of  Helge's  unholy  work — some  of 
his  singing  and  conjuring.  I  will  go  up 
and  look." 

Nimble  as  the  forest  squirrel,  he  climbed 
to  the  top  of  the  tallest  mast  and  held  a 
sharp  lookout.  And  lo  !  he  espied  at  no 
great  distance  what  seemed  a  swimming 
islet,  tossed  loosely  amidst  the  raging 
waves.  Looking  more  intently  he  made 
out  a  huge  whale,  and  on  the  creature's 


On  the  High  Seas  67 

back  the  two  Trolls,  who  were  working 
hard,  doing  Helge's  bidding  :  Heid  in  his 
snow-coat,  looking  like  an  ice-bear,  and 
Ham  in  the  shape  of  a  storm-eagle,  flap- 
ping a  pair  of  gigantic  wings. 

"  Now,  Ellide,  show  thy  mettle  ! "  Frith- 
jof  cried  excitedly.  "  Hear  my  voice,  and 
if  thou  art  indeed  a  daughter  of  the  gods, 
if  high  courage  doth  dwell  within  thy 
oaken  breast — on  to  them,  Ellide,  and 
let  thy  copper  keel  cut  the  whale  in 
two  ! " 

And  Ellide  hears  her  master's  voice. 
She  gives  one  mighty  bound  and  angrily 
makes  straight  for  the  whale.  A  jet  of 
steaming  blood  spurts  high  at  the  shock ; 
the  monster,  hurt  to  death,  sinks  into  the 
gaping  chasm.  At  the  same  time  two 
spears,  hurled  by  an  unfailing  hand,  pierce 
the  ice-bear's  and  the  eagle's  breasts.  And 
instantly  the  storm  surceases,  the  heavens 
clear,  the  sun  comes  forth  in  splendour,  as 
a  king  entering  the  audience-hall,  and 
sheds  the  glory  of  his  presence  over  ship 
and  sea  and  land.  Frithjofs  joy  was 
solemn  and  subdued, 


68  Frithjof 

"  Ingeborg's  prayers,"  he  whispered,  as 
his  gaze  rested  on  the  smooth  expanse 
and  on  the  golden  disk  now  sinking  low 
behind  some  islands'  verdant  strand — 
"  Ingeborg's  prayers  sped,  pallid  maidens, 
up  to  Odin's  hall,  and,  bending  lily- 
white  knees  on  its  golden  floor,  touched 
the  divine  revellers'  hearts.  To  her  be 
thanks!" 

But  Ellide  has  sorely  felt  the  strain,  and 
the  shock  with  the  whale  has  all  but  dis- 
abled her.  Weary  and  bruised,  she  just 
creeps  along.  Still  more  weary  are  the 
men.  So  exhausted  are  they,  that  they 
hardly  manage  to  stand,  leaning  on  their 
swords,  and  when  at  last  Ellide  stops 
alongside  one  of  the  Orkney  Isles,  Bjorn 
and  Frithjof  almost  carry  them  on  land, 
and  lay  them  in  a  circle  around  the  fire 
which  they  have  quickly  lit.  They  are 
deeply  mortified  at  their  weakness,  and 
the  chiefs  have  to  comfort  them  with 
cheering  words  : 

"  Be  not  ashamed,  ye  pale  friends ! 
Even  Vikings  are  not  always  a  match  for 
the  sea,  and  water-maidens'  embraces  are 


On  the  High  Seas 


69 


chilling  and  unmanning.  But  here  comes 
the  mead-horn  on  its  welcome  round. 
There  's  life  and  warmth  in  it.  To  it  with 
a  will !  And  health  to  Ingeborg  ! " 


X 

IN    EARL   ANGANTYR'S    HALL 

NOW,  ye  may  like  to  hear  how,  in  his 
hall  strongly  built  of  fir-trunks,  with 
his  men  so  grim  and  battle-tried,  Earl 
Angantyr,  Lord  of  the  Orkneys,  sat  feast- 
ing on  that  day,  and  how,  as  the  golden 
mead  went  round,  they  looked,  in  restful, 
pensive  mood,  out  on  the  blue  expanse, 
on  which  the  sinking  sun  rested  light,  like 
to  a  golden  swan. 

In  the  bay  of  the  broad  window  old 
Halwar  stands  on  watch,  one  eye  on  the 
waves,  the  other  on  the  mead.  Silently 
he  drains  his  horn  and  silently  holds  it 
out  for  more.  Suddenly  he  throws  it, 
empty,  behind  him  on  the  floor,  and  cries  : 

"  A  ship,  a  ship !  out  there  by  the 
strand.  But  something  is  wrong  with  her. 
70 


In  Earl  Angantyr's  Hall        71 

Her  crew  seems  in  distress.  Now  they 
land,  but  queerly,  i'  faith :  two  giants  are 
carrying  the  men  to  the  land  and  lay  them 
on  the  ground." 

The  Earl  now  joined  old  Halwar  and 
took  a  look. 

"  Those  are  Ellide's  wings,"  he  said ; 
"  so  Frithjof  must  be  there.  By  his  feat- 
ures, by  his  bearing,  Thorsten's  son  is 
easily  known — such  a  face  is  not  often 
seen  here  in  the  North." 

Here  Viking  Atle  springs  from  the 
banquet-table,  black-bearded,  grim,  his 
blood-shot  eye  alight  with  battle's  fire. 

"  Now,"  he  cries,  "we  shall  see  whether 
Frithjof  can,  as  't  is  said  of  him,  cast  a 
spell  on  steel,  or  whether  he  will  sue  for 
peace." 

With  him  up  spring  twelve  champions 
of  the  fiercest ;  waving  their  swords  and 
maces  they  rush  down  to  the  beach,  where 
tired  Ellide  lies,  and  Frithjof  sits  on  the 
sand,  speaking  comforting  words  to  his 
weary  men. 

"  I  could  easily  fell  thee  where  thou 
sittest,"  Atle  boastingly  addressed  him 


In  Earl  Angantyr's  Hall        73 

by  shocks  less  ponderous.  The  heavy 
drops  stand  on  the  wrestlers'  brows,  their 
breasts  heave  high  and  short,  shrubs  and 
stones  fly  all  around.  Their  friends  look 
on  aghast  and  fearful  of  the  end,  yet  in 
their  hearts  they  praise  alike  each  champi- 
on's bravery  and  skill.  That  fight  was 
long  remembered  in  all  the  Northern 
lands. 

At  last  Frithjof  felled  his  foe,  and  held 
him  down  with  his  knee. 

"  Had  I  but  my  sword,"  he  cried,  "  thou 
black-bearded  maniac,  I  should  quickly 
make  an  end  of  thee." 

"  Have  thy  will,"  was  Atle's  proud  re- 
tort. "  Go,  get  thy  sword ;  I  have  no 
wish  to  run  away.  We  both  must  see 
Valhalla  some  day ;  I  go  now,  thou  may- 
est  follow  me  to-morrow." 

Frithjof  seemed  minded  to  take  his 
prostrate  foe's  advice ;  already  Angur- 
wadel  was  raised  above  him,  yet  Atle  did 
not  stir.  Such  manliness  touched  the 
victor's  generous  heart ;  his  anger  fell,  he 
cast  the  sword  aside,  and  took  the  fallen 
man  by  the  hand, 


74  Frithjof 

Then  Halwar  raised  aloft  his  white  staff. 

"  Enough  ! "  he  cried.  "  Your  senseless 
brawl  is  pleasing  to  no  one  but  yourselves. 
The  meats  have  long  stood  steaming  on 
the  board,  fish  and  fowls  are  growing  cold, 
and  I  am  sheer  dying  with  thirst." 

And  so  the  two,  now  friends,  walked 
together  into  the  hall,  where  Frithjof  was 
to  see  many  things  new  to  him.  The 
walls,  instead  of  bare,  rough-hewn  planks, 
were  covered  with  hangings  of  gilt  leather 
stamped  with  many  cunning  designs,  of 
grapes  and  vines.  Instead  of  a  deep 
hearth  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  the  huge 
logs  blazed  in  fireplaces  at  both  ends  of 
the  hall,  with  marble  mantels.  No  smoke 
remained  inside ;  no  soot  blackened  the 
walls.  The  window  had  panes  of  glass ; 
the  door  a*  lock.  And  silver  sconces 
stretched  out  their  arms,  laden  with  wax 
lights,  instead  of  the  smoky  but  fragrant 
pine  chips,  stuck  in  chinks  of  the  plank- 
ing. On  a  round  table  to  itself  there 
stood  a  deer  roasted  whole,  with  gilt  hoofs 
and  green  boughs  twined  in  his  antlers. 
By  each  reveller's  chair  stood  a  handmaid, 


In  Earl  Angantyr's  Hall        75 

lily-cheeked  and  rosy-lipped,  of  golden 
locks  or  brown,  of  dark  or  azure  eye, 
prompt  in  willing  service. 

High  on  a  dais,  in  a  chair  of  massive 
silver,  the  Earl  sat  in  state  ;  his  golden 
helmet  flashing  light,  his  corslet  too  of 
gold ;  star-broidered  his  purple  mantle's 
ample  folds,  bordered  with  a  broad  band 
of  ermine. 

He  rose,  and  took  three  steps  to  meet 
his  guest,  with  cordial  hand  outstretched. 

"  Take  time  to  rest,  I  pray,"  he  said 
after  the  first  greeting,  with  kindly  care. 
"  Many  a  beaker  have  I  drained  with 
Thorsten,  here  in  this  very  hall.  His 
son,  whose  name,  though  young,  is  hon- 
oured far  and  wide,  shall  not  sit  far  from 
me." 

With  his  own  hand  the  Earl  filled  a 
goblet  with  wine  of  Sicily,  hot  as  flame 
and  foaming  as  the  sea-wave. 

"  Welcome  in  my  own  hall,  son  of  my 
friend !  This  cup  to  hero  Thorsten's 
memory  ! " 

A  Skald  of  high  renown  now  tuned  his 
harp.  In  low  and  solemn  strains  he 


;6  Frithjof 

pitched  his  song  at  first,  then  rose  to  loud 
and  martial  notes  in  praise  of  Thorsten's 
deeds. 

And  now  the  Earl  plied  his  guest  with 
many  questions  ;  Frithjof  gave  answer  in 
words  well  chosen  and  discreet.  He  told 
of  his  perilous  voyage,  and  how  he  had 
defeated  the  royal  wizard's  craft.  Loud 
laughed  the  warriors  ;  Angantyr  smiled, 
well  pleased ;  Frithjof  had  found  favour 
with  them  all.  But  when  he  told  of  Inge- 
borg,  so  fair  in  her  sorrow,  so  sweet  in 
her  thoughtfulness,  eyes  softened  and  lips 
ceased  to  smile ;  sighs  came  from  many  a 
gentle  bosom,  and  of  the  maidens  many 
would  have  liked  to  press  so  true  a  lover's 
hand. 

At  last  he  boldly  told  his  mission.  The 
Earl  heard  him  patiently  to  the  end,  un- 
moved— or  so  it  seemed.  A  silence  fell 
on  all. 

"Tribute  I  never  paid,"  he  answered 
quietly.  "  I  held  Bele  in  honour,  but 
never  was  vassal  of  his.  As  to  his  heirs, 
I  know  nothing  of  them.  If  they  have  a 
claim,  let  them  be  men  and  enforce  it  with 


In  Earl  Angantyr's  Hall        77 

the  sword.  We  shall  know  how  to  meet 
them.  But  Thorsten  was  my  friend." 

He  signed  to  his  daughter  who  sat  by 
his  side.  She  understood  the  unspoken 
command  and  ran  to  her  own  chamber, 
whence  she  quickly  returned  and  handed 
her  father  a  belt-pouch.  It  was  beauti- 
fully worked  in  green  silk,  the  clasp  set 
with  rubies,  the  tassel  of  spun  gold.  The 
Earl  filled  it  as  full  as  it  could  hold  with 
gold  coined  in  many  lands. 

"  This  is  for  welcome, — my  gift  to  my 
old  friend's  son,"  he  said  as  he  placed  it 
in  Frithjof's  hand.  "  Do  with  it  as  thou 
pleasest.  But  stay  with  us  the  winter,  I 
pray,  and  rest  thee  with  thy  men.  The 
time  for  storms  will  soon  be  coming,  and 
I  would  wager  Ham  and  Heid  will  come 
to  life  again.  Ellide  may  not  always  leap 
with  such  true  aim,  nor  is  there  lack  of 
whales  for  one  that  sank." 

With  talk  and  jest  thus  passed  the  night 
away.  Cheerily  the  horn  travelled  round 
the  board,  yet  the  men  kept  well  within 
bounds,  and  it  was  with  clear  heads  and 
ringing  voices  that,  just  as  day  was  break- 


78  Frithjof 

ing,  the  parting  toast,  "  Earl  Angantyr ! " 
was  given  out  and  drunk. 

Frithjof    stayed    and    had    a    pleasant 
winter. 


XI 

FRITHJOF'S    RETURN 

AT  the  first  breath  of  spring  in  the  blue 
air,  at  the  first  touch  of  green  in  the 
thawing  fields,  Frithjof  thanked  his  host 
and  once  again  trusted  himself  to  the 
treacherous  sea,  now  smooth  and  mild 
enough,  and  merrily  Ellide  drew  the  silver 
furrow  across  the  dark  blue  plain.  Light 
west  winds  sung  in  the  sails  like  night- 
ingales and  ^Egir's  daughters,  disporting 
themselves  in  their  native  waves,  seemed 
playfully  to  help  the  ship  along.  'T  is 
joy  to  the  mariner  to  set  the  sails  for 
home,  to  watch  for  the  smoke  which  rises 
from  his  own  hearth,  for  the  green  mounds 
in  which  his  fathers  rest,  for  the  rock  from 
which  a  faithful  maid  has  daily  looked  out 
on  the  sea. 

79 


8o  Frithjof 

Six  days  the  voyage  lasted,  unhindered 
and  unclouded.  On  the  seventh  a  faint 
bluish  streak  is  espied ;  it  grows  and  ex- 
pands into  the  jagged  lines  of  rocky  islets, 
and,  at  last,  of  solid  land.  Frithjof  looks 
with  beating  heart,  with  dimming  eye : 
't  is  his  own  land,  and  those  are  his  own 
woods ;  and  now  he  can  hear  the  water- 
fall which  rushes  headlong  down  the  rock's 
naked  breast.  He  greets  the  fjord,  the 
headland;  he  sails  hard  by  the  temple 
and  the  grove  where,  last  summer,  he  and 
Ingeborg  talked  and  dreamed  so  many  a 
night  away. 

"  Why  does  she  not  come  forth  ? "  he 
thinks,  impatiently.  "Can  she  not  feel 
how  near  I  am  to  her?  or  has  she  gone 
from  Balder's  keeping,  and  does  she  sor- 
rowfully spend  her  days  in  Helge's  home, 
between  the  harp,  the  distaff,  and  the 
loom  ?  " 

And  lo !  from  the  temple's  roof  his 
favourite  falcon  comes  flying  with  joyful 
shriek  and  lights  upon  his  shoulder,  as 
was  his  wont.  He  flaps  and  flaps  his 
snowy  wings,  holds  fast  the  shoulder, 


Frithjof's  Return  81 

scratches  with  his  claw  in  wild  excitement, 
and  pecks  with  his  bill  in  Frithjof's  ear 
with  little  moaning  cries,  as  though  he 
would  quickly  tell  him  something  of  im- 
port. 

Ellide  now  lightly  turns  the  point ;  't  is 
as  though  her  keel  felt  the  touch  of  native 
waters.  Frithjof  stands  at  the  prow  and 
looks  eagerly  towards  the  shore.  He 
rubs  his  eyes  and  holds  his  hand  over 
them — in  vain  !  there  is  no  sign  of  his 
own  Framnas.  Yet  stay  !  a  tall  chimney- 
stack,  bare  and  black,  rises  in  the  middle 
of  a  heap  of  rubbish — cinders,  ashes, 
stones.  He  looks,  and  looks  again — his 
heart  stands  still — he  leaps  ashore,  strides 
to  where  the  gate  once  stood — the  house, 
the  barns  :  a  waste  !  no  sign  of  life  !  Only 
his  hound,  his  faithful  Bran,  who  has  wor- 
ried many  a  bear  for  him,  runs  out  and 
springs  at  him  in  wild  glee,  baying  and 
whining ;  and  his  favourite  courser,  milk- 
white,  with  golden  mane,  swan-necked  and 
deer-footed,  comes  bounding  from  the 
wood,  neighing  and  whinnying,  and  nib- 
bles at  his  hand  for  bread.  Alas  !  Frith- 


82  Frithjof 

jof  now  is  poorer  than  these  friends ;  he 
has  nothing  more  to  share  with  them,  not 
even  the  shelter  of  a  roof ! 

He  does  not  know  how  long  he  stands 
upon  his  wasted  homestead's  land,  when, 
turning  round,  he  finds  Hilding,  his  aged 
foster-father,  by  his  side.  He  has  no 
greeting  for  the  old  man  in  the  great  bit- 
terness of  his  soul,  but  gives  vent  to  his 
anger  at  once  : 

"  What  I  now  behold  I  might  have 
foreseen.  The  eagle  flown,  they  robbed 
the  nest.  A  truly  royal  feat !  However, 
it  angers  me  more  than  it  grieves.  Now 
tell  me,  where  is  Ingeborg?" 

"  I  will  tell  thee,"  replied  Hilding,  "for 
thou  must  know  sometime.  But  I  fear 
me  the  tidings  will  not  please  thee.  No 
sooner  hadst  thou  gone,  than  Ring  came 
on  in  force.  There  was  a  battle — only 
one.  King  Halfdan,  boyish  in  manner  as 
ever,  laughed  and  jested,  yet  when  it  came 
to  fighting,  showed  himself  a  man.  But 
there  was  not  much  fighting,  for  Helge 
lost  heart  and  fled — and  that  was  the  end. 
As  he  passed  thy  homestead  in  his  flight, 


Frithjof's  Return  83 

he  set  fire  to  it.  Now  the  brothers  had 
no  choice  :  Ring  would  accept  of  no  peace- 
offering  but  their  sister.  If  not — he  would 
take  their  land  and  crown.  There  was 
much  parleying;  many  messages  went 

back  and  forward :  but well,  King  Ring 

has  his  bride." 

'.  Oh  women,  women  ! "  cried  Frithjof, 
passionately.  "  Out  on  their  rosy  cheeks, 
whose  blush  is  a  lie  !  their  laughing  eyes, 
whose  loving  glance  is  deceit !  their  dainty 
lips,  whose  smile  is  perjury !  They  do 
say  of  Raider's  Nanna,  she  was  true.  But 
then  she  was  a  goddess.  There  is  no 
truth  in  human  souls,  if  Ingeborg  could 
be  false.  False — yet  how  dear !  As  far 
back  as  memory  takes  me,  she  was  my 
one  thought,  my  one  desire,  my  mate  in 
earnest  and  in  play ;  of  all  the  deeds  I 
dreamed  of  doing,  she  was  to  have  been 
the  prize.  I  cannot,  cannot  think  of  my- 
self apart  from  her.  Yet  here  I  stand — 
alone  !  Away  !  away  !  I  will  not  think 
of  her  again,  the  fair  witch,  the  bride  that 
played  me  false !  Away  with  dalliance 
and  with  dreams !  I  will  out  into  the 


84  Fnthjof 

world,  wherever  there  is  food  for  my  sword, 
on  mountain  height,  in  peopled  valley,  or 
on  ocean  wave.  Let  me  but  meet  a  king 
— see  if  I  spare  him !  And  if,  between 
scenes  of  tempest  and  of  slaughter,  I 
should  haply  chance  upon  some  love-sick 
boy,  from  very  pity,  by  my  troth,  I  will 
slay  him  straight,  and  save  him  from 
standing  some  day,  betrayed,  bereft,  be- 
fooled— as  I  stand  here  !  " 

"  How  rash  and  reckless  courses  youth- 
ful blood!"  sighed  Hilding.  "It  takes 
the  snows  of  age  to  cool  it.  Thou  dost 
wrong  the  noble  maid  most  grievously. 
Sorrowful  she  dwelt  in  Helge's  house. 
To  me  alone  she  opened  all  her  heart ; 
I  alone  knew  how  bravely  that  gentle 
spirit  battled  with  its  grief.  '  I  am  the 
victim  of  expiation,'  she  often  said  to  me, 
'  that  is  to  ransom  my  country  and  my 
people.  I  might  die,  't  is  true ;  but  a 
harder  lot  was  set  aside  for  me.  What  I 
am  going  to  is  a  lingering  death  in  life. 
But,  father,  tell  no  one  of  my  agony. 
Suffering  I  can  accept,  but  not  compas- 
sion ; — the  King's  daughter  recoils  from 


Frithjofs  Return  85 

that.  .  .  .  But  to  Frithjof  take  the  greet- 
of  poor  Ingeborg  ! '  On  the  wedding-day 
— oh  that  it  had  never  dawned  ! — the  men- 
at-arms,  the  maiden's  own  body-guard, 
walked  to  the  temple  two  by  two.  Sadly 
stepped  the  Skald  with  his  harp  before 
the  sable  steed,  on  which  the  bride  sat 
pale  as  a  spirit  on  a  dark  thundercloud. 
In  these  my  arms  I  lifted  her  from  the 
saddle,  slender  and  swaying  as  a  lily-stalk, 
and  led  her  in.  Yet  she  took  the  vow 
with  voice  both  firm  and  clear.  All  were 
in  tears,  except  herself.  Only  one  ugly 
incident  marred  the  dignity  of  the  sad  and 
solemn  rite  :  King  Helge  caught  sight  of 
thy  ring  upon  her  arm,  and  tore  it  off 
roughly,  with  a  curse.  Now,  by  her  wish, 
it  is  on  Balder's  arm,  and  in  his  sacred 
keeping.  My  patience  at  this  gave  way  ; 
I  snatched  my  sword  from  my  side — the 
King's  life  was  not  worth  much  to  me  just 
then.  But  Ingeborg  whispered  :  '  Let  go 
the  sword  !  True,  a  brother  might  have 
spared  me  this  ;  but  the  heart  will  bear 
much  before  it  breaks.  All-Father  shall 
requite.  I  murmur  not.'  " 


86 


Frithjof 


"  All-Father  shall  requite  ! "  Frithjof 
broke  in.  "  Methinks  it  would  please  me 
to  do  a  little  of  the  requiting  myself.  Is 
not  this  Balder's  Midsummer  day  ?  Yon- 
der in  the  temple  the  priestly  king  will  be 
holding  high  revelry — the  murderer,  the 
incendiary,  who  trades  away  his  sister- 
ward.  The  very  thing  !  I  feel  inspired  to 
play  the  judge  !  " 


XII 

BALDER'S    FUNERAL    PYRE 

THE  Midnight  Sun  stands  over  the 
hills,  blood-red  and  beamless.  It  is 
not  day,  it  is  not  night — a  something  grey 
and  weird.  Balder's  funeral  pyre,  em- 
blem of  the  Sun,  is  burning  on  the  hearth. 
When  it  is  all  burned  down,  winter's  reign 
begins  on  earth. 

The  priests  were  busy  with  the  fire — 
pale  old  men  with  flowing  silver  locks, 
holding  knives  of  flint  in  horny  hands. 
Not  far  from  them  stood  Helge,  the 
crown  on  his  head,  ministering  at  the 
altar-stone.  When,  hark !  the  clang  of 
arms  was  heard  from  the  sacred  grove, 
and  a  voice  in  stern  command  : 

"  Bjorn,  keep  watch  here  at  the  gate. 
They  are  in  the  trap — let  not  one  escape ; 
kill  them  first,  every  one." 
87 


88  Frithjof 

Helge  stood  pale,  as  turned  to  stone  : 
too  well  he  knew  that  voice.  Frithjof 
entered,  like  an  angry  god,  and  his  voice 
was  like  the  storm's  : 

"  Here  the  tribute  !  I  fetched  it  for 
thee  from  beyond  the  seas.  Take  it ! 
Then,  here  by  Balder's  pyre,  we  fight  for 
life  or  death.  Shield  on  back,  and  open 
breast !  That  is  the  way  to  fight.  Thine, 
as  King,  be  the  first  stroke  ;  the  second 
shall  be  mine.  Look  not  so  anxiously 
at  the  door  !  Rather  think  of  Framnas  ! 
Think  too  of  Ingeborg,  the  golden- 
locked  ! " 

He  spoke,  and  taking  from  his  belt  the 
heavy  purse,  hurled  it  with  aim  deliberate 
straight  at  Helge's  head.  Blood  spurted 
from  the  royal  nose  and  mouth,  the  knees 
gave  way,  and,  senseless,  pale,  by  the  al- 
tar-stone lay  the  grandson  of  the  gods. 

"  What !  "  mocked  Frithjof  ;  "  not  stand 
the  touch  of  thine  own  gold  ?  Thou  most 
dastardly  of  Norseland's  sons !  Angur- 
wadel  would  scorn  to  draw  blood  from 
such  as  thou.  Quiet,  priests  !  Down  with 
the  sacred  knives,  ye  phantom  shapes  of 


Balder's  Funeral  Pyre          89 

night !  Else  are  ye  ripe  for  death — our 
blades  are  all  athirst.  And  thou,  pale 
Balder,  check  thy  anger,  for,  by  thy  leave, 
I  must  have  that  ring  upon  thine  arm — 
't  was  never  meant  for  thee.  Not  for 
thee,  I  dare  maintain,  did  Waulund  shape 
the  gold.  Stolen  goods,  taken  from  weep- 
ing maid,  are  no  fitting  gift  for  gods  !  " 

As  he  spoke,  he  reached  for  the  ring 
and  would  have  stripped  it  off  the  statue's 
arm ;  but  pull  and  tug  as  he  would,  ring 
and  arm  seemed  grown  together  ;  and  when 
at  last  the  ring  came  off,  the  statue  swayed 
with  the  wrench  and  fell  headlong  into  the 
fire.  In  a  twinkling  the  flame  caught  at 
the  beams  of  the  roof — Bjorn  at  the  door 
grew  deadly  pale,  and  Frithjof  stood  trans- 
fixed. But  not  for  long.  Seized  with 
horror  at  the  sacrilege,  at  his  own  unwill- 
ing deed,  his  one  thought  was  now  to 
save. 

"Wide  the  doors!"  he  cries.  "Get 
out  the  people  !  Take  off  the  watch ! 
The  temple  burns  !  Water  ! — pour  water  ! 
pour  the  sea  ! " 

A  chain  is  quickly  formed  from  the  tern- 


90  Frithjof 

pie  to  the  beach  ;  buckets  run  from  hand 
to  hand  ;  the  water  hisses  and  sputters  on 
the  heated  wood.  Frithjof  sits  astride  of 
the  roof  and  floods  it  as  the  buckets  reach 
him ;  his  voice  never  ceases  ringing  out 
commands  ;  he  alone  directs  the  work,  and 
holds  his  dangerous  post,  heedless  of  the 
encompassing  flames  and  smoke.  But 
nothing  helps — not  his  almost  insane  brav- 
ery, nor  his  men's  untiring  efforts.  The 
gold  and  silver  plating  melt  as  in  a  smelt- 
ing furnace,  and  the  liquid  metal  falls  in 
heavy  drops  upon  the  sand. 

All  is  lost !  Many  did  say  afterwards 
that  they  saw  a  fire-red  cock  fly  out  of  the 
flames,  and  stand  on  the  top  of  the  roof, 
crowing  and  flapping  his  wings.  A  brisk 
northerly  wind  quickened  still  more  the 
work  of  destruction  ;  from  the  temple  the 
flames  leaped  over  to  the  grove,  hungrier 
for  the  lavish  food.  How  they  raged 
among  the  boughs  !  how  they  licked  the 
curling,  shrivelling  foliage  up  !  With  a 
roar  as  of  the  tempest  they  swept  through 
the  summits  ;  they  bored  their  way  into 
the  earth,  and  the  roots  cracked  and 


Balder' s  Funeral  Pyre         91 

smouldered.  The  grove,  but  now  a  stand- 
ing sea  of  fire,  suddenly  collapsed  into  a 
wilderness  of  glowing  stumps,  and  a  vast 
heap  of  red  cinders  and  ashes. 

The  battle  has  long  been  given  up. 
And  when  the  early  summer  morning 
ruthlessly  shows  the  night's  awful  work, 
the  people  silently  disperse.  But  Frithjof 
goes  his  way  alone,  weeping  the  scalding 
tears  of  a  strong  man's  despair. 


XIII 

FRITHJOF  THE    VIKING 

IT  was  another  summer  night,  soon  after 
the  temple  fire,  and  Frithjof,  restless, 
sleepless,  was  pacing  the  deck  of  his  ship  ; 
and  as  he  paced  it,  his  eye  clung  to  the 
shore ;  he  sought  out  each  dear,  familiar 
spot,  from  his  father's  mound  to  the  rock 
streaked  with  the  waterfall's  silver,  and 
took  silent  leave  from  them — forever. 
For  this  was  his  last  night  in  his  native 
land,  his  native  waters.  His  sentence  had 
been  spoken  by  the  King  and  approved  by 
the  people  :  banishment  for  life,  and  death 
at  any  hand,  if  found  within  the  boundaries 
of  the  country,  or  a  certain  distance  from 
shore.  One  course  only  was  now  open  to 
him :  to  take  Bjorn  and  a  few  trusty  com- 
rades, and  let  Ellide  bear  them  out  into  the 
92 


Frithjof  the  Viking  93 

wide  world, — to  roam  the  seas  at  random, 
taking  what  came  his  way,  bound  by  no 
tie  of  country,  kin  or  friendship — outside 
his  ship — the  true  sea-king's  pirate  life. 

But  he  was  not  to  depart  unmolested. 
Helge's  hatred  was  not  so  easily  satisfied, 
and  he  set  a  trap  for  the  man  he  had 
driven  into  crime.  As  Ellide  warily  and 
daintily  threaded  her  way  between  cliffs 
and  banks  and  was  just  coming  out  of  the 
fjord  into  the  open  sea,  she  found  herself 
confronted  with  ten  of  the  King's  finest 
dragon-ships,  which  had  been  placed  so  as 
to  cut  off  her  course  and  capture  Frithjof 
within  the  prescribed  distance.  Helge 
himself  was  on  one  of  them.  His  crews 
set  up  a  derisive  shout  as  they  started  to 
attack. 

Then  a  thing  happened,  wonderful  and 
awful  to  behold.  Invisible  forces  fought 
Helge's  dragons,  invisible  hands  drew 
them  down  one  by  one  into  the  deep  with 
their  crews,  and  the  King  alone  succeeded 
in  swimming  ashore  from  one  of  the 
wrecks.  A  peal  of  laughter  rang  after 
him  frpm  Ellide's  deck,  It  was.  Bjqrn, 


94  Frithjof 

rejoicing  in  his  foresight  and  the  clever 
trick  he  had  played  upon  the  foe.  Ever 
alert,  he  had  got  wind  of  Helge's  wicked 
scheme,  and  swimming  up  to  each  ship 
under  water,  under  cover  of  the  night,  had 
quietly  bored  a  hole  in  each  hold,  near  the 
keel.  His  one  regret  now  was  that  Helge 
should  have  escaped. 

And  now  Ellide  bore  her  small  troop  of 
desperate  spirits,  gallantly  as  the  free-born 
falcon,  across  the  unfrequented  seas  of  the 
high  North.  Frithjof  knew  that  he  could 
not  too  soon  establish  some  kind  of  or- 
derly rule  on  board  if  he  was  to  keep  his 
men  under  control ;  so  he  set  about  com- 
posing a  code  of  laws,  by  which  he  should 
be  bound  as  well  as  they  and  which  should 
be  fair  to  all.  That  they  should  bind 
themselves  of  their  own  free  will  to  cer- 
tain laws  of  their  own  was  absolutely 
necessary,  since,  being  cast  out  of  the 
protection  which  common  law  awards  to 
other  men,  they  could  not  be  expected  to 
respect  it.  The  following  are  some  of 
the  points  in  this  code  : 

"  Sleep  npt  in  a  tent  pn  bpard  pr  in  a. 


Frithjof  the  Viking  95 

house  on  land.  Foes  might  lurk  within. 
Sleep  sword  in  hand,  Viking,  and  be  the 
blue  sky  thy  tent. 

"  When  it  storms,  set  all  sails.  It  is 
cowardly  to  take  in  the  sails  ;  perish  first ! 

"When  on  land,  protect  women  and 
maidens.  But  let  them  keep  away  from 
the  ship.  For  Freya  herself  would  de- 
ceive thee.  The  dimple  in  a  fair  cheek  is 
the  deadliest  of  traps,  and  a  woman's  fly- 
ing locks  are  the  strongest  of  nets. 

"  If  thou  dost  meet  a  merchant  man, 
protect  his  ship  ;  but  let  him,  who  is  weak, 
pay  a  toll  to  the  strong.  For  thou  art 
king  of  the  sea,  and  he  is  the  slave  of 
profit.  His  gold  is  not  worth  more  than 
thy  steel. 

"  Profit  and  booty  shall  be  divided  on 
open  deck  by  the  fortune  of  dice,  and 
whatever  thy  lot,  do  not  thou  complain. 
The  Sea-King  himself  throws  no  dice — 
honour  is  his  share. 

"  If  another  Viking's  ship  comes  along, 
then  grapple  and  fight.  If  thou  yield  but 
a  hair's-breadth,  thou  art  our  comrade  no 
more. 


g6  Frithjof 

"  But  let  victory  content  thee.  He 
who  sues  for  peace  is  like  an  unarmed 
man, — no  longer  a  foe.  A  villain  he  who 
gives  no  heed  to  prayer. 

"  A  wound  is  the  Viking's  pride  and 
best  ornament,  if  sported  on  the  breast  or 
brow.  Though  bleeding,  bind  it  not  'fore 
night,  or  thy  welcome  is  less  at  the  feast." 

These  laws  of  Frithjof's  making  quickly 
became  known  far  and  wide.  His  deeds, 
his  name,  were  on  all  men's  lips.  Some 
blessed,  and  some  cursed  it ;  among  all 
the  sea-kings  of  new  or  olden  times,  the 
like  of  him,  people  said,  had  not  been 
seen. 

But  he  himself  sat  ever  by  the  rudder 
alone,  looking  gloomily  down  into  the 
ever-shifting  waves. 

"  Thou  art  deep,"  he  thought,  "  and  in 
thy  depths  there  may  be  peace  ;  but  up 
here  there  surely  is  none.  O  Balder, 
thou  bright  one  !  if  thou  be  wroth  with 
me,  then  draw  thy  sword,  and  I  will  gladly 
fall  on  it.  But  no !  he  sits  above  the 
clouds,  and  sends  me  thoughts  which 
darken  my  mind." 


Frithjof  the  Viking  97 

Only  in  the  hour  of  battle  his  spirit 
rises,  as  soars  the  eagle  after  a  span  of 
rest.  Then  his  brow  clears,  and  his  voice 
rings  high,  and  he  stands  as  Thor  before 
his  crew.  And  so  he  sailed  from  victory 
to  victory  over  the  waters'  ever  open 
grave. 

One  day  he  found  himself  in  those  very 
seas  of  Greece  to  which  he  once  would 
have  lured  Ingeborg  from  their  Northern 
home.  And  those  seas,  those  isles,  with 
their  groves  and  ruins,  just  as  his  father 
described  them,  cast  their  spell  on  him  for 
a  while,  and  drew  him  strongly  to  remain. 
It  was  but  a  fleeting  impulse ;  and,  by  a 
strange  reaction,  home-sickness  for  his 
rugged  North  overcame  him  among  the 
allurements  of  the  South  as  never  be- 
fore. Then  he  remembered  that  this  was 
just  what  Ingeborg  predicted.  And  his 
thoughts  went  back  to  her  with  a  rush  : 

"Where  is  she  now?  Does  she  ever 
think  of  me  by  the  side  of  her  elderly 
lord  ?  Ah  !  I  can  never  forget.  I  would 
die — how  willingly !  to  see  her  again,  to 
see  her  just  once  !  It  is  three  years  since 


98  Frithjof 

I  last  saw  my  own  land  :  is  it  still  as  green 
and  fair  ?  Do  the  mountains  still  tower 
as  lofty  into  the  pale  blue  sky  ?  On  my 
father's  grave  I  planted  a  young  linden 
tree — has  it  prospered,  I  wonder  ?  't  was 
but  a  tender  thing.  And  who  cares  for  it 
now  ?  O  earth,  feed  its  roots,  and,  heaven, 

give  it  thy  dew  to  drink  ! But  why 

should  I  longer  roam  these  foreign  seas, 
and  rob  and  kill  for  a  pastime  ?  Fame  I 
have  won  enough,  and  as  for  gold — I 
despise  the  wretched  trash.  The  flag  at 
the  mast  points  northward,  and  there  lies 
the  land  I  love.  Yes!  I  will  follow  the 
wind,  the  herald  of  heaven  !  I  will  steer 
to  my  own,  my  native  North  !" 

Having  arrived  at  this  decision,  Frith- 
jof opened  his  heart  to  his  friend  with  his 
usual  directness  : 

41  Bjorn,  I  am  sick  of  the  sea.  These 
everlasting  moving  waves  are  but  wild 
company.  My  beloved  North  with  its 
strong,  firm  rocks,  draws  me  back.  Ah, 
happy  he  who  may  dwell  where  his  fathers 
rest !  Too  long  have  I  wandered  aim- 
lessly, a  miserable  outlaw." 


Frithjof  the  Viking  99 

But  Bjorn  replied  in  his  quiet,  some- 
what stolid  way : 

"  The  sea  is  good.  There  alone  we 
find  a  merry  life  and  free.  When  age 
conies,  it  will  be  time  enough  to  take  root 
in  the  earth,  like  the  grass.  Now  I  would 
rather  fight  and  feast  on  board  a  good 
ship,  and  get  all  the  pleasure  I  can  out  of 
my  life." 

Then  Frithjof  came  out  with  what  really 
was  in  his  mind  all  the  time : 

"  Dost  remember  how  once  the  ice 
drove  us  to  the  land  ?  How  the  waves 
froze  about  the  keel?  I  will  not  miss 
another  of  our  brave  long  winters,  tarry- 
ing here  among  the  cliffs  of  this  lonely 
strand.  Once  more  I  want  to  feast  in  the 
North  at  the  merry  Yule-tide — and  I  will ! 
as  a  guest  of  Ring,  of  my  bride  that  was. 
I  must  look  once  more  on  the  silken  gold 
of  her  hair,  listen  once  again  to  the  witch- 
ing music  of  her  voice." 

"  I  see,"  said  practical  Bjorn.  "  Ring 
is  to  be  taught  how  swifter  than  lightning 
is  a  Viking's  vengeance,  as  we  set  fire  to 
his  palace  and  carry  the  fair  one  away. 


1OO 


Frithjof 


Or  wouldst  thou  challenge  him  to  single 
combat,  with  a  fair  field  and  no  favour,  on 
land  or  on  the  ice  ?  That  too  were  Vik- 
ing's fashion.  Speak !  I  am  ready  for 
either  or  any  venture." 

But  Frithjof  stopped  him  indignantly  : 

"  Speak  not  to  me  of  war,  of  killing  and 
burning.  I  will  visit  the  King  in  peace- 
ful guise.  I  blame  him  not,  nor  his  un- 
willing bride :  't  was  all  the  work  of  a 
god's  avenging  hand.  There  is  nothing 
left  for  me  on  earth  to  hope  for ;  I  will 
take  my  leave  of  her  who  must  ever  be 
dear  to  me — a  leave  eternal.  When  the 
cattle  are  brought  out  to  pasture — sooner 
perhaps — I  shall  be  there." 

Sentiment  was  the  only  thing  Bjorn 
never  could  understand. 

"  Frithjof,  I  have  no  patience  with  such 
foolishness,"  he  said  roughly.  "  Where  is 
the  sense  of  sighing  and  whining  about  a 
woman  ?  The  world  is  full  of  them — 
more 's  the  pity.  For  one  whom  you  miss, 
you  can  catch  a  thousand.  Why,  only 
say  the  word,  and  I  will  fetch  you  a  ship- 
load of  the  cattle,  straight  from  the  South, 


Frithjof  the  Viking  101 

red  as  roses,  tame  as  lambs  ;  we  can  share 
the  cargo  or  take  our  chance  by  lots." 

Despite  his  melancholy,  Frithjof  could 
not  but  laugh  at  his  friend's  quaint  out- 
burst. 

"  Bjorn,"  he  said,  "  thou  art  open  and 
honest  as  the  day,  wise  in  the  council, 
brave  in  battle ;  Odin  and  Thor  stand 
ever  by  thee  ;  but  Freya,  the  heaven-born, 
is  a  stranger  to  thee.  Beware  thou  anger 
her  not !  There  is  a  spark  in  each  human 
breast — aye,  and  in  gods — which  must  at 
some  time  wake  into  flame  at  her  touch. 

Arguing  was  not  Bjorn's  strong  point. 
Besides,  he  saw  that  Frithjofs  mind  was 
made  up  and  concern  for  his  friend's 
safety  drove  other  thoughts  away.  So 
he  only  said  : 

"  Go  not  alone,  at  least.  I  should  know 
no  peace." 

"  I  am  not  alone  when  my  good  sword 
is  with  me." 

"  Shouldst  thou  fall,  brother,  thou  shalt 
be  avenged  ;  I  can  promise  thee  that." 

"  There  will  be  no  occasion,"  said 
Frithjof  calmly.  And  so  it  was  settled. 


XIV 

AN   UNBIDDEN   GUEST 

TWAS  Yule-tide.  King  Ring,  serene 
and  gracious,  sat  at  the  head  of  his 
own  festive  board  —  never  was  kindlier 
host.  And  by  him,  fair  and  gentle,  sat 
his  queen :  spring  and  autumn  strangely 
mated. 

When  lo  !  a  stranger  stood  in  the  door  : 
an  old  man,  wrapped  in  a  bear's  pelt  to 
his  feet,  weak  and  bent,  leaning  on  a  knotty 
staff.  Yet  was  he  great  of  stature  beyond 
all  the  assembled  guests.  He  sat  him 
down  close  by  the  door,  the  place  for  poor 
guests  in  all  times.  The  company  laughed 
and  exchanged  glances,  and  some  pointed 
at  him  with  their  fingers. 

The  stranger's  eyes  shot  forth  blue 
lightning.  With  one  hand  he  seized  the 


An  Unbidden  Guest          103 

nearest  of  the  scoffers,  a  flippant,  beardless 
youth, — and,  seemingly  without  effort, 
stood  him  on  his  head.  The  others  looked 
on  in  silence  and  gave  no  sign  of  anger, 
for  each  man  thought  to  himself,  "  I  should 
have  done  the  same." 

"What  is  the  noise  down  there?"  the 
King  asked  angrily.  "  Who  is  it  breaks 
the  peace  ?  Come  here,  old  man,  speak 
up  :  what  is  thy  name  ?  thy  country  ?  what 
seek'st  thou  here  ?  "  . 

"  Many  questions  in  one  breath,  O 
King,"  said  the  stranger ;  "  my  answer 
shall  be  brief.  My  name  is  nothing  to 
thee — 't  will  take  care  of  itself.  Misery 
is  my  country,  want  my  patrimony.  Yes- 
ternight I  slept  with  the  wolf ;  to-night 
I  come  to  thee.  There  was  a  time,  I 
rode  merrily  my  good  dragon-ship  ;  it  had 
strong  wings  and  flew  with  tempest  speed. 
Now  't  is  frozen  fast  and  lies,  a  captive,  by 
the  strand.  I  wished  to  see  the  King 
whose  wisdom  is  famed  in  many  lands ; 
but  thy  men  jeered  at  me,  and  I  am  too 
old  to  put  up  with  insults.  So  I  took  up 
one  of  the  fools  and  turned  him  upside 


104  Frithjof 

down.  He  took  no  harm  and  picked 
himself  up  straightway.  No  offence,  O 
King!" 

The  King  laughed. 

"Not  bad  in  sooth  !  I  rather  like  thy 
coolness.  And  age  has  its  privileges. 
Now  come,  sit  thee  down  by  me.  And 
drop  that  clumsy  disguise.  Deceit  of  any 
sort  ill  suits  with  pleasure,  and  it  is  my 
will  that  pleasure  reign  at  this  festive 
time." 

Then  from  the  guest's  head  fell  the 
shaggy  pelt,  and  in  the  old  man's  place 
there  stood  a  youth  in  all  the  splendour  of 
manhood.  From  the  high  brow  down  to 
the  broad  shoulders  flowed  the  wealth  of 
golden  locks.  A  blue  velvet  mantle  thrown 
back  from  the  breast  set  off  the  silver 
belt,  broad  as  a  man's  hand,  on  which,  in 
high  chased  work,  was  seen  a  hunt,  with 
flying  hart  and  pursuing  hounds.  Broad 
bands  of  gold  glistened  on  the  arms,  and 
the  sword — sheathed  lightning  ! — fell  idly 
on  one  side.  Thus  the  hero  stood  re- 
vealed. His  eye,  now  mild  and  thought- 
ful, took  in  the  hall,  the  hosts,  an4  th$ 


An  Unbidden  Guest          105 

guests.  Tall  as  Thor,  fair  as  Balder,  he 
stood  before  the  King. 

Into  the  Queen's  pale  cheeks  the  blood 
shot  quickly  at  the  sight ;  a  snowfield  thus 
is  flushed  with  a  reflection  of  the  North- 
ern Light  ;  and  her  breast  could  be  seen 
heaving  through  the  clinging  robe. 

But  hark  !  a  horn's  blast  loud  and  long 
sounded  through  the  hall.  All  talk  ceased 
at  the  signal,  for  it  ushered  in  the  most 
solemn  ceremony  of  Yule-night, — the  tak- 
ing of  vows  for  the  coming  year. 

Amid  a  profound,  reverent  silence,  the 
boar  was  brought  in,  the  emblem  of  Frey, 
the  Sun-god,  who  from  this,  the  longest 
night  of  the  year,  begins  to  gather  strength 
to  overcome  the  evil  brood  of  winter  gi- 
ants. The  boar  was  a  mighty  forest 
beast,  skilfully  roasted  whole,  with  wreaths 
of  evergreens  around  his  neck  and  shoul- 
ders, and  an  apple  in  his  mouth.  As  the 
bearers  set  the  heavy  burden  down,  the 
King  and  all  his  guests  bent  the  knee. 

King  Ring  was  the  first  to  rise  and 
touch  the  boar's  brow,  This  was  the  vow 
he  took ; 


io6  Frithjof 

"  I  will  find  and  capture  Frithjof,  even 
though  there  be  no  champion  to  compare 
with  him.  So  help  me  Frey,  and  Odin, 
and  mighty  Thor  ! " 

With  scornful  laugh  the  unknown  sprang 
from  his  knees  to  his  full  height,  his  eyes 
flashed  wrathfully,  and  his  features  worked 
angrily.  He  struck  his  sword  against  the 
table  with  such  violence  as  made  the  walls 
resound  and  every  guest  start  to  his  feet. 

"  Hear  now  my  vow,  my  lord  King,"  he 
cried.  "  I  know  Frithjof  well ;  he  and  I 
are  blood-kin.  I  will  defend  him,  though 
a  world  rise  up  in  arms  against  him.  So 
help  me  Fate  and  my  good  sword  !  " 

The  King  laughed  good-naturedly,  and 
said : 

"  I  call  that  a  challenge  if  ever  there 
was  one.  But  speech  is  free  where  King 
Ring  rules.  Come,  my  Queen,  pour  out 
a  horn  of  wine  for  our  touchy  guest,  of 
our  best.  He  will,  I  trust,  remain  with 
us  all  winter." 

The  Queen  took  up  the  horn  that  stood 
upon  the  table  before  her,  on  bright  silver 
feet,  mounted  with  hoops  of  gold,  filled  it 


QUEEN  AND  VIKING. 


An  Unbidden  Guest          107 

to  the  brim,  and  offered  it  to  the  guest, 
with  downcast  eye  ;  but  it  trembled  as  she 
held  it,  and  a  few  red  drops  were  spilt 
upon  her  lily-white  hand.  He  took  it 
gently  from  her  and  raised  it  to  his  lips. 
As  men  are  now,  no  two  would  have 
drained  that  horn  ;  he  smiled,  and  quaffed 
it  at  one  draught. 

Then  the  Skald  took  the  harp  which 
stood  by  the  royal  table,  and  sang  of  love 
and  war,  of  ancient  fathers'  deeds  on  land 
and  sea,  and  of  Valhalla's  joys,  and  all 
that  men  delight  to  hear  at  feasts,  while 
still  the  mighty  horn  went  on  its  frequent 
rounds.  High  ran  the  revel  and  harm- 
less merriment,  and  when  the  guests  dis- 
persed, their  sleep  was  deep  and  free  from 
care. 


XV 

ON  THE  ICE 

CRITHJOF  made  no  formal  promise 
A  in  reply  to  the  old  King's  cordial  in- 
vitation, but  he  staid  from  day  to  day, 
most  likely  uncertain  in  his  own  mind  as 
to  his  further  actions.  Had  Ingeborg 
known  him  when  he  threw  off  his  dis- 
guise and  stood  before  her  motionless 
for  a  long  moment,  almost  challenging 
her  with  his  fixed  look  ?  This  was  the 
only  question  which  occupied  him,  and 
he  could  not  decide  it  to  his  satisfac- 
tion. At  all  events,  she  had  not  betrayed 
herself ;  not  a  glance  ever  passed  between 
them  other  than  was  natural  between  host- 
ess and  guest — not  a  word  that  might  have 
been  construed  into  double  meaning.  A 
stern  feeling  of  honour  kept  him  under 

108 


On  the  Ice  109 

close  control,  so  that  their  intercourse  al- 
most might  have  been  called  unrestrained. 
Was  it  pleasure,  was  it  pain  such  nearness 
gave  him  ?  He  could  hardly  have  told 
himself,  the  two  feelings  were  so  mixed. 
Anyhow,  it  would  have  been  hard  to  tear 
himself  away,  and  still  he  put  off  any  posi- 
tive decision. 

Meanwhile,  the  old  King  appeared  to 
take  more  and  more  delight  in  his  guest's 
society.  He  would  hear  of  no  amuse- 
ment, no  excursion  without  him,  and 
Frithjof  could  not  possibly  have  kept 
aloof  without  ungraciousness,  and  indeed 
without  exciting  suspicion.  On  one  oc- 
casion, it  was  well  for  the  King  and  Queen 
that  such  was  the  former's  fancy.  A 
sleighing  and  skating  expedition  across 
the  fjord  was  the  order  of  the  day.  King 
Ring  himself  was  driving  his  famous  Swed- 
ish trotter,  with  Ingeborg  in  her  nest  of 
furs  by  his  side,  for  she  was  fond  of  the 
exercise.  Frithjof  had  strapped  on  his 
skates,  and  raced  the  trotter,  to  the  court's 
amazement  and  delight.  When  suddenly 
there  was  a  shriek  of  horror :  sleigh  and 


1 10  Frithjof 

horse  had  broken  through  a  thin  spot  on 
the  ice  and  had  almost  disappeared.  But 
before  they  could  be  sucked  by  the  cur- 
rent under  the  ice,  Frithjof,  swift  as  light- 
ning, was  on  the  spot,  just  in  time  to  grasp 
the  horse's  head  at  the  bit,  and  with  one 
pull,  such  as  no  other  man  could  have 
given,  had  him  out  and  on  his  feet,  when 
he  helped  him  drag  the  sleigh  with  its 
precious  human  load  beyond  the  line  of 
danger. 

"  That  was  a  good  pull,  and  strong ! " 
the  King  cried  admiringly.  "  Frithjof 
himself  could  not  have  done  better." 

All  returned  to  the  palace  at  once — 
there  had  been  enough  excitement  for  one 
day.  And  now  the  King  pressed  Frithjof 
so  earnestly,  that  he  at  last  pledged  him- 
self to  remain  at  least  until  spring. 


XVI 

THE  TEMPTATION 

AND  spring  came  in  due  time,  and 
with  it  the  chirping  of  birds,  and  the 
woodland  foliage,  and  the  long,  long  days. 
Once  more  the  rivers  ran,  blithely  singing, 
to  the  sea,  glad  of  their  liberty,  and  the 
human  breast  expanded  with  the  renewed 
vigour  of  life  and  hope  and  joyousness. 

A  great  hunt  had  long  been  planned  to 
open  the  season.  The  Queen  was  to  take 
part  in  it,  and  the  whole  court  gathered 
in  high  spirits.  Bows  creak,  arrows  rattle 
in  the  quivers,  the  steeds  paw  the  ground 
with  impatient  hoof,  and  the  hooded  fal- 
cons shriek  with  longing  for  a  flight. 

Now  she  appears,  for  whom  all  wait — 
the  Lady  of  the  Hunt.  Alas,  poor  Frith- 
jof,  better  look  away !  As  the  morning 


ii2  Frithjof 

star  rides  a  summer  cloud,  so  light  she 
sits  her  snowy  palfrey.  Canst  thou  bear 
to  look  upon  those  locks  of  gold  thy  hand 
so  often  stroked,  those  eyes  whose  azure 
was  thy  heaven,  that  graceful  form  which 
timidly  clung  to  thee  ?  Ah,  no  !  look  not 
that  way,  nor  stay  where  thou  canst  hear 
that  voice,  sweet  as  the  spring's  own 
breath ! 

All  is  ready — they  are  off  !  Over  mount 
and  dale,  heigho  !  The  horns  blow,  the 
falcons  soar  straight  up,  as  though  they 
would  storm  Odin's  own  heaven ;  the 
woodland  beasts  fly  terrified,  and  make 
for  cave  and  den  and  burrow. 

The  aged  King  cannot  follow  at  such 
speed.  Frithjof  alone  rides  by  his  side, 
silent  and  moody.  His  thoughts  are  far 
away. 

"  Why,"  he  thinks,  "  why  did  I  leave  the 
sea,  to  my  own  harm  and  sorrow !  Out 
there,  where  the  waves  play  wild  and  free, 
there  is  no  room  for  brooding,  and  if  dark 
thoughts  do  come  up,  the  winds  of  heaven 
blow  them  away,  or  else  they  yield  to  the 
cares  of  war.  But  here  they  flap  their 


The  Temptation  113 

black  pinions  in  my  very  face,  and  I  go 
about  as  in  a  bad  dream  all  day.  Me- 
seems  I  still  walk  in  Balder's  grove,  still 
hear  the  words  with  which  she  swore  me 

troth.  She  broke  the  oath Ah,  no  ! 

not  she,  not  she !  Angry  gods — they 
broke  it.  They  took  my  rosebud  and  laid 
it  at  Winter's  breast.  And  is  she  any 
good  to  him  ?  Winter  knows  not  such 
a  flower's  worth,  and  his  chilling  breath 
clothes  both  bud  and  leaf,  and  stalk  in  ice." 

Thus  dreaming,  Frithjof  forgot  him- 
self, his  host,  the  world.  He  rode  on  be- 
cause his  horse  carried  him,  and  noted 
not  the  quiet  valley  nestling  among 
wooded  slopes,  shaded  by  ancient  elms 
and  birches,  into  which  they  had  strayed, 
so  that  he  started  to  hear  the  King's  voice 
close  to  him  : 

"  This  is  a  lovely  spot,  and  the  grove  is 
cool.  Let  us  rest  here,  for  I  am  tired.  I 
fain  would  sleep  awhile." 

"  Not  here,  O  King !  This  is  no  spot 
for  sleep.  The  ground  is  cold  and  damp  ; 
thou  wouldst  find  unwholesome  rest. 
Come,  I  will  ride  home  with  thee." 


ii4  Frithjof 

"Sleep,  like  other  gods,  sends  his 
gifts  unasked,"  said  the  King.  "  Wouldst 
grudge  thy  host  a  moment's  rest?" 

Frithjof  then  unfastened  his  mantle, 
and  spread  it  on  the  ground  ;  the  old  King 
laid  his  head  upon  his  knees,  and  soon  lay 
slumbering  as  sweetly  as  the  warrior  on 
his  shield  after  a  day  of  toil  and  battle,  or 
as  a  child  on  its  mother's  arm. 

And  as  he  slumbers — hark !  a  black 
bird  sings  in  the  tree : 

"  Haste,  Frithjof,  strike !  A  single 
blow  ends  the  strife.  Then  take  the 
Queen — she  is  thine  ;  for  did  she  not  give 
thee  first  a  bride's  kiss  ?  No  human  eye 
sees  thee,  and  dead  men  tell  no  tales." 

Frithjof  listens.  Hark !  a  white  bird 
sings  in  the  tree  : 

"  If  no  human  eye  can  see  thee,  still 
Odin's  eye  is  upon  thee.  Villain  !  wouldst 
thou  murder  sleep  ?  The  man  is  old,  un- 
armed. Whatever  thou  mayest  win,  't  will 
not  be  glory  surely." 

Thus  by  turns  the  two  birds  sang,  till 
Frithjof  drew  his  sword,  horrified,  and 
flung  it  from  him  with  such  violence  that 


The  Temptation  115 

it  cut  its  way  through  the  foliage  and  fell 
far  into  the  wood.  The  black  bird  flew 
away  to  Nastrand,  the  black  river  of 
death.  The  white  bird  soared  on  light 
pinion  high  up  into  the  sunlight,  and  its 
joyful  carol  was  like  the  tone  of  a  silver 
harp. 

The  old  King  woke  up  abruptly. 

"  This  sleep  is  worth  much  to  me,"  he 
said.  "  It  is  sweet  to  slumber  in  the 
shady  grove,  secure  under  the  guard  of  a 
brave  man's  sword.  .  .  .  But,  stranger, 
where  is  thy  sword,  own  brother  to  the 
lightning  ?  Speak !  Who  parted  them 
that  never  should  be  parted  ? " 

"  I  do  not  care,"  replied  Frithjof. 
"  There  are  swords  enough  in  Norse- 
land.  A  sword,  O  King,  is  sharp  of 
tongue  and  seldom  counsels  well.  Dark 
spirits  lurk  in  steel — the  whole  black  pack 
of  hell.  Sleep  is  not  safe  from  them,  and 
silver  hair  attracts  them." 

"  Hear,  then,  O  youth  :  I  did  not  sleep. 
I  but  wished  to  test  thee.  A  wise  man 
never  trusts  to  man  or  blade  before  he 
has  made  trial  of  both  and  found  them 


n6  Frithjof 

true.  Thou  art  Frithjof.  I  knew  thee 
from  the  moment  thou  didst  enter  the 
hall.  Old  Ring  has  known  all  the  time 
what  thou  didst  so  cleverly  conceal,  thou 
wary  guest.  Why  didst  thou  steal  into 
my  home,  disguised,  nameless  ?  Because 
thy  intent  was  to  rob  the  old  man  of  his 
bride  ?  Honour,  Frithjof,  never  sits  down 
at  a  man's  board  a  nameless  guest.  I  had 
heard  much  of  one  named  Frithjof,  a  foe 
to  the  gods,  a  terror  to  men,  a  desperate 
man,  burner  of  temples,  a  hero  in  war. 
Long  I  waited  for  him  to  come  with  an 
army  and  challenge  me.  Instead  of  which 
he  comes  in  beggar's  garb,  with  a  beggar's 
staff.  Nay,  look  not  so  shamed.  I  too 
have  known  the  ardour  of  youth.  I  tried 
thee — and  forgave.  I  pitied — and  forgot. 
Look  on  me  :  I  am  old,  ripe  for  the  grave. 
When  I  am  gone,  take  thou  my  realm, 
take  my  Queen — she  is  thine  by  right. 
Till  then  bide  with  me  still,  and  be  my 
son.  The  feud  between  us  is  no  more." 

If  Frithjof  was  astonished  at  what  the 
King  told  him,  he  did  not  show  it,  but  re- 
plied gloomily : 


The  Temptation  117 

"I  did  not  come  as  a  thief.  Had  I 
meant  to  take  thy  wife  from  thee,  say — 
who  could  have  hindered  me  ?  No  !  I 
only  longed  to  see  once  more  her  who  had 
been  my  promised  wife ;  once,  only  once, 
and,  alas  !  for  the  last  time.  Ah,  woe  is 
me !  Flames  half  extinguished  I  fanned 
into  a  new  blaze,  and  it  consumes  me. 
Too  long,  O  King,  have  I  tarried  ;  I  must 
go.  The  wrath  of  gods  unreconciled  lies 
too  heavily  on  my  outlawed  head.  Balder 
of  the  shining  locks,  who  looks  on  all 
things  with  love,  hates  me  alone,  the  ban- 
ished outcast  ! — Yes,  I  did  set  fire  to  the 
temple.  For  that  am  I  now  called  '  the 
Wolf.'  Children  shriek  at  my  name,  and 
revellers  are  dumb.  There  is  no  peace 
for  me  at  home,  none  within  my  own 
breast.  The  green  earth  has  no  place  for 
me.  The  ground  burns  under  my  feet, 
the  tree  gives  me  no  grateful  shade. 
Ingeborg  is  lost  to  me  ;  my  life's  sun  has 
set,  darkness  wraps  me  round.  Then  ho, 
to  sea !  Thy  black  breast,  my  dragon, 
bathe  once  more  in  the  salt  sea-waves ! 
Spread  thy  wings  to  the  gale,  plough  up 


ii8  Frithjof 

the  waters,  fly  to  the  uttermost  end,  so  far 
as  stars  will  guide  and  winds  will  carry 
thee !  Let  me  hear  once  more  the  tur- 
moil of  the  storm,  once  more  feel  the  fury 
of  battle — in  the  midst  of  chaos  calm  may 
descend  into  my  breast." 


XVII 

KING    RING'S    DEATH 

THE  next  morning,  as  Skinfax,  the 
Sun-steed  with  the  golden  mane, 
emerged  from  the  waves  in  the  East,  and 
the  first  rays  of  morn  gilded  the  roof 
of  the  banquet-hall,  there  was  a  knock  at 
the  gate.  With  careworn  brow,  but  firm 
tread,  Frithjof  entered  and  approached 
the  place  where  sat  the  King,  thoughtful 
and  silent,  and  Ingeborg,  pale  and  agi- 
tated. The  guest  began  his  farewell 
speech  in  a  voice  unlike  his  own,  it  was 
so  low  and  broken  : 

"  The  time  has  come.  Wind  and  tide 
serve.  I  must  go  from  my  friends  and 
the  land  of  my  love.  Ingeborg,  take 
back  my  arm-ring,  be  it  a  sacred  token  to 
thee,  never  part  with  it.  From  my  heart 


1 20  Frithjof 

I  forgive,  but  never  on  earth  shalt  thou 
see  me  again.  Never  again  will  I  look  at 
smoke  that  rises  in  the  North.  Home 
and  grave  I  will  find  in  the  sea.  King 
Ring  !  never  go  with  the  women  to  walk  on 
the  beach  !  especially  not  on  starlit  nights. 
Thou  mightst  behold,  driven  to  land, 
Frithjof,  the  outlawed  Viking's,  corpse." 
But  the  King  would  hear  no  more  : 
"  It  ill  beseems  a  man  to  whimper  like 
a  love-sick  girl.  The  death-song  is  heard 
all  over  the  world  ;  I  too  have  heard  it ; 
— what  of  that  ?  must  not  all  things  that 
live  go  the  way  of  death  ?  What  is  de- 
creed must  be,  and  neither  plaint  avails, 
nor  raving  against  fate.  Frithjof,  what  I 
said  to  thee,  I  say  again  :  I  give  thee  wife 
and  land  ;  take  care  of  them  for  my  infant 
son.  Nothing  have  I  so  loved,  for  noth- 
ing striven  so,  as  peace — golden,  happy 
peace ;  yet  have  I  broken  shields  and 
lances  with  the  best,  on  sea  and  land,  and 
no  one  ever  saw  my  cheek  to  blanch.  But 
I  would  not  willingly  die  the  straw-death,1 

1  It  was  considered  inglorious  for   Norse  warriors  to  die 
from  old  age  or  disease.      Such  a  death,  derisively  called  the 


King  Ring's  Death  121 

the  first  of  Norseland's  rulers.  It  is  not 
hard  to  part  from  life :  far  harder  't  is  to 
live  than  die."  He  said ;  and  with  his 
sword  firmly  cut  the  death-runes  on  his 
breast  and  arm  ;  for  a  moment  he  watched 
the  blood  flowing  warm  and  free,  then 
called  for  a  last  horn  of  mead,  Norseland's 
national  drink. 

"  To  thee  I  drink,  to  thy  glory,  O  peer- 
less North ! "  he  spoke  with  voice  still 
strong  and  firm.  "  In  the  midst  of  wild, 
bloodthirsty  comrades  I  sought  for  peace 
— she  never  staid  long  with  me !  Now 
perchance  I  may  find  her  in  her  heavenly 

home Hail,  ye  gods,  sons  of  Valhalla  ! 

The  earth  goes  from  me Wel- 
come, ye  Asas,  the  willing  guest !" 

Once  more  he  pressed  Ingeborg's  hands, 
his  weeping  friend's,  and  his  little  son's ; 
then  his  eye  broke,  and  in  a  sigh  his  spirit, 
freed,  was  wafted  to  All-Father's  throne. 

"  straw-death,"  in  scornful  allusion  to  the  couch  or  deathbed, 
deprived  them  of  the  right  to  enter  Valhalla  and  share  the 
joys  of  the  warriors  slain  in  battle  and  brought  to  Odin's  hall 
by  the  Valkyries.  Rather  than  forfeit  this  supreme  privilege, 
aged  warriors  slew  themselves  with  their  own  swords,  when 
there  was  absolutely  no  prospect  of  their  dying  the  honour- 
able death  of  the  battlefield, 


XVIII 
THE     ELECTION 

TO  the  Ting  !  to  the  Ting  ! "  With 
the  call  the  herald  goes  from  farm 
to  farm,  from  home  to  home.  King  Ring 
is  dead.  Deep  in  the  mound,  in  the  spa- 
cious stone-lined  chamber,  he  sits  in  state, 
the  sword  at  his  side,  the  shield  on  his 
arm,  and  his  favourite  charger  faithfully 
waits  to  take  him,  fleet  as  ever,  through 
spirit-land.  And  now  a  king  must  be 
chosen  anew. 

Each  bonder  takes  his  sword  from  the 
wall,  carefully  tries  the  edge  and  rubs  the 
blade,  while  eager  boys  look  on,  then  at- 
tempt to  lift  the  weapon  :  two  will  do  it ; 
't  is  too  much  for  one.  The  daughter 
meanwhile  cleans  and  polishes  the  helmet, 
and  blushes  as  shs  sees  her  own  fair  face 

122 


The  Election  123 

reflected  in  the  steel.  Last  comes  the 
shield, — and  ready  stands,  for  deeds  of 
peace  or  war,  the  true-hearted  bonder,  the 
free-born  Norseman  !  'T  is  in  the  breast 
of  such  as  he  that  the  nation's  honour 
is  safely  housed.  In  peace  he  is  his 
country's  wise  adviser,  in  war  her  stal- 
wart champion  ever. 

In  an  open  field,  under  the  blue  canopy, 
the  men  assemble  with  crash  of  shields 
and  clash  of  arms.  Frithjof  stands  straight 
and  tall  upon  the  judgment-stone,  and 
close  to  him  the  little  gold-haired  lad,  the 
old  King's  only  son. 

A  murmur  goes  through  the  circle  of 
men  : 

"  Too  young !  No  judge  of  men  is  he, 
nor  fit  to  lead  in  war." 

But  Frithjof  raises  the  child  upon  his 
shield  : 

"  Behold  your  King  !  The  country's 
blooming  hope  !  Beauteous  and  noble  of 
bearing  as  an  infant  Odin  !  See  how  light 
and  well  at  ease  he  stands,  poised  on  the 
unsteady  shield  !  My  sword  shall  guard 
his  kingdom's  honour  and  his  own,  and 


1 24  Frithjof 

on  his  brow  my  hand  shall  place  some 
day  his  father's  crown.  Forsete,  Raider's 
son,  keeper  divine  of  justice  and  of  men's 
faith — hear  thou  my  oath,  and  if  I  break 
it,  let  my  life  pay  the  forfeit ! " 

Standing  on  the  shield  held  high  by  the 
hero's  outstretched  arms,  the  child  looks 
up  with  eye  so  bold  as  on  the  sun  looks 
the  young  eagle.  But  soon  he  tires  of 
the  novel  game  and,  with  fearlessness  right 
royal,  leaps  down  upon  the  ground.  With 
a  roar  of  delight  the  Ting  greets  the  dar- 
ing feat,  and  the  men  cry  out  as  one : 

"  We  choose  thee  King !  Be  as  thy 
father  great  and  good  !  And  let  Frithjof 
in  thy  place  rule  until  thou  growest  strong 
in  mind  and  body !  Earl  Frithjof,  hail ! 
and  take  the  mother  for  thy  bride  !  " 

But  Frithjof  spoke  out  loud  and 
stern : 

"  This  is  election  day,  not  wedding  day 
that  I  know.  Nor  shall  any  man  choose 
a  bride  for  me.  But  I  must  now  haste 
me  to  Balder's  grove.  My  fate  has  waited 
there  for  me  this  many  a  day.  Unrecon- 
ciled as  yet  is  the  god  of  the  golden  locks. 


The  Election 


125 


He  took  my  bride  from  me,  and  he  alone 
can  give  her  back." 

He  kisses  the  little  King's  brow  in 
homage  and  greeting,  and  forthwith,  alone 
and  silent,  they  see  him  stride  across  the 
heath  as  one  in  haste. 


XIX 

THE   VISION 

IT  was  a  glorious  evening  following  on 
one  of  those  perfect  days  in  our  early 
Northern  spring,  when  nature  seems  to 
make  the  most  of  every  hour  to  efface  all 
signs  of  winter's  long  reign.  Frithjof 
stood  upon  his  father's  mound  and  let  his 
eyes  wander  leisurely  from  point  to  point 
of  the  beautiful  landscape.  The  whole 
scene  was  so  sweetly  familiar  in  the  golden 
light  of  the  hour  just  before  sunset,  each 
well-loved  landmark — of  tree,  and  stream, 
and  rock — stood  out  so  clear  and  peaceful, 
that  he  found  himself  living  again  those 
days  which  he  had  for  years,  in  his  fierce 
and  bitter  grief,  striven — how  vainly  ! — to 
forget.  "  Unchanged  are  all  things,  save 
I  alone!"  That  was  the  burden  of  hig 
126 


The  Vision  127 

thoughts,  the  cry  of  his  heart — and  how 
passionately  he  wished  the  last  few  years 
away  ! 

One  feature  of  the  scene,  indeed,  was 
new — and  from  that  he  had  shuddering- 
ly  turned  away :  the  blackened,  desolate 
spot  where  Balder's  temple  had  stood, 
with  the  stately  surrounding  grove.  But 
now  he  turned  resolutely  towards  it,  and 
looked  full  at  the  mutely  accusing  ruins. 

"  Oh  !  "  he  cried  in  despairing  longing, 
"  is  there  no  such  thing  as  forgiveness 
in  Odin's  heaven  ?  A  man  whose  friend 
was  slain  takes  blood-money  and  forgives. 
The  gods  accept  men's  sacrifices.  And 
thou,  great  Balder,  can  nothing  pacify  thy 
wrath  ?  Yet  men  do  say  thou  art  the 
mildest  of  them  all.  And,  knowing  all 
things,  thou  must  know  that  I  never  meant 
to  burn  thy  house.  Have  mercy,  then, 
and  take  the  stain  from  my  dishonoured 
shield  !  Lift  from  me  the  burden  which 
is  more  than  I  can  bear,  and  disperse  the 
spirits  of  darkness  which  beset  me  !  Can- 
not repentance  and  a  blameless  life  atone 
for  one  moment's  madness  ?  " 


128  Frithjof 

He  threw  himself  upon  the  mound  as 
he  would  have  thrown  himself  upon  his 
father's  breast. 

"  Dost  sleep,  my  father  ?  "  he  whispered. 
"  But  no  !  thou  sittest,  guest  of  the  gods, 
at  Odin's  board,  where  voices  from  the 
earth  may  never  reach  thee.  Yet,  father, 
this  once  look  down  from  those  blessed 
abodes  above  the  stars  :  thy  son  it  is  that 
calls  thee — thee,  Thorsten  Vikingson. 
Give  me  but  a  sign  !  a  word  !  How  can 
I  win  great  Balder's  pardon  ?  " 

He  sank,  exhausted,  on  the  grass.  The 
sun  was  just  setting  in  a  golden  sea ;  the 
evening  breeze,  softly  rustling  through  the 
trees,  sang  its  gentle  lullaby  to  the  weary 
man  ;  sleep  touched  his  brow  with  pitying 
hand,  and  the  peace  he  sought  so  passion- 
ately came  to  him  at  last. 

And  in  his  sleep  he  saw  a  vision.  A 
strange  splendour  seemed  to  descend  from 
the  darkening  heavens,  a  mist  of  gold  and 
purple,  irradiated  with  a  light  not  of  this 
world.  And  slowly  the  glory  took  shape, 
and  a  wondrous  aerial  structure  stood  be- 
fore the  sleeper's  spirit-sight,  upon  the 


The  Vision  129 

rock  where  Balder's  temple  had  been : 
high  walls  of  silver,  pillars  of  brass,  an  al- 
tar of  a  single  precious  stone.  The  dome, 
high  and  rounded,  hung  free  above,  as 
held  by  unseen  hands,  a  half  sphere  of 
crystal,  pure  and  blue  as  virgin  ice  or  as 
the  winter  sky  ;  and  through  the  crystal 
were  seen  Valhalla's  gods,  seated  on 
thrones  in  azure  mantles  and  golden 
crowns.  In  the  temple's  wide-open  portal 
stood  the  three  Norns,  the  sister-Fates, — 
with  the  shield  on  which,  in  heavenly  runes, 
are  writ  all  things  that  have  been,  are,  and 
are  to  be, — of  countenance  grave,  yet  mild 
withal  and  wondrous  fair ;  Urda,  the  sis- 
ter of  the  Past,  pointing  to  the  ruins  of 
the  old  temple,  and  Skulda,  the  sister  of 
the  Future,  to  the  vision  of  the  new  tem- 
ple. Frithjof  gazed  in  awe,  admiring,  and 
ere  he  could  gather  his  sleep-bound  wits 
the  marvel  had  vanished.  But  as  he  woke 
he  knew  his  prayer  had  been  answered. 

"  The  sign  ! "  he  cried.  "  Father,  the 
sign  from  thee  !  I  am  to  rebuild  Balder's 
temple,  fairer  than  it  was,  on  the  same 
spot.  Oh  joy,  that 't  is  given  me  to  atone ! 

9 


130  Frithjof 

The  outcast  may  hope  once  more  ;  the 
divine  arms  will  open  for  him  at  last. 
Hail,  ye  stars !  once  more,  with  peace  at 
my  heart,  I  may  watch  your  course.  And 
hail,  my  native  Northern  Light !  once 
more  I  may  look  on  thy  fiery  beauty,  nor 
think  of  burning  temples.  Now,  father,  I 
will  lay  me  down,  and  while  away  this 
blessed  night  with  dreams  of  human  love 
and  mercy  all  divine." 


XX 

RECONCILIATION 

THE  new  temple  was  completed.  The 
enclosure  was  not,  as  formerly,  a 
mere  wooden  paling,  but  a  railing  of  iron, 
with  a  gilt  brass  knob  on  each  spike.  The 
temple  itself  was  built  of  huge  quarry 
stones,  a  work  for  all  eternity,  yielding  in 
nothing  to  that  mighty  temple  at  Upsala, 
in  which  Norseland  sees  the  earthly  coun- 
terpart of  its  own  Valhalla.  It  towered 
on  a  beetling  rock,  mirrored  in  the  still 
waters  of  the  bay.  And  back  of  it,  like 
a  well  tended  garden,  stretched  the  valley, 
and  farther  still  the  grove,  alive  with  the 
song  of  birds.  The  portals  were  of  brass, 
and,  within,  two  mighty  pillars  upbore  the 
dome's  majestic  sphere,  which  on  the  out- 
side seemed  a  suspended  giant  shield  of 


132  Frithjof 

gold.  The  altar  was  hewn  out  of  one 
solid  block  of  Norseland's  granite.  And 
in  the  wall  above  was  left  an  open  space, 
deep  blue  with  golden  stars — there  sat  the 
silver  statue  of  the  god. 

Such  the  temple.  And  this  the  morn- 
ing of  the  consecration. 

Two  by  two,  twelve  maidens  entered, 
richly  robed  in  cloth  of  silver,  the  bloom 
of  roses  on  their  cheeks  and  in  their  inno- 
cent hearts.  In  graceful,  stately  dance 
they  moved  around  the  altar,  as  woodland 
fairies  dance  on  the  grassy  rounds,  while 
morning  dew  yet  sparkles  on  each  blade 
and  stalk  ;  and,  as  they  danced,  they  sang 
the  sacred  lay  of  Balder :  how  he  was 
loved  of  gods  and  men,  and  all  things 
breathing  or  inanimate  in  all  the  world, 
save  only  Loki,  the  malignant  half-breed 
offspring  of  a  Troll  father  and  an  obscure 
mother ;  how  he  fell,  pierced  by  a  toy 
arrow  sent  in  sport  by  his  blind  brother 
Hoder,  but  directed  by  Loki's  evil  hand  ; 
and  how  earth  and  sea  and  heavens  wept 
for  him. 

Frithjof  stood  by,  leaning  on  his  sword, 


Reconciliation  133 

spell-bound.  It  was  as  though  his  days 
of  Viking  life,  with  all  their  lawlessness 
and  strife,  were  passing  from  him,  and 
sinking,  a  bloody  spectre,  into  the  night 
of  things  forgotten,  while  the  joys  and 
dreams  of  his  harmless  boyhood  came 
trooping  round  him,  blue-eyed,  flower- 
crowned,  and  smiled  and  beckoned  to  him 
with  sweet  familiar  gesture.  Higher  and 
higher  his  soul  felt  lifted  above  these 
lowly  haunts  of  human  hatred,  human 
vengeance ;  one  by  one  the  iron  bands 
fell  off  that  held  his  breast  oppressed,  as 
winter's  ice  melts  from  the  frowning  rock. 
The  sunshine  of  peace  and  love  flooded 
the  hero's  heart,  which  seemed  to  throb 
with  the  universal  pulse — he  could  have 
held  the  world  in  fond  encircling  arms. 

Now  entered  Balder's  high-priest.  Not 
fair  and  youthful  as  the  god,  yet  tall  and 
of  commanding  presence,  with  silver  beard 
flowing  down  to  his  girdle,  and  heaven's 
own  graciousness  in  his  mild  and  noble 
countenance.  A  hitherto  unknown  feel- 
ing of  pious  awe  thrilled  Frithjof's  being ; 
the  eagle  pinions  on  his  helmet  bent  low 


1 34  Frithjof 

before  the  aged  priest,  as  the  venerable 
lips  uttered  the  words  of  greeting : 

"  Welcome,  son  Frithjof  !  I  have  looked 
for  thee.  For  power  misled  into  violence 
and  misused,  if  so  the  man's  nature  be  but 
noble,  is  sure  to  return  to  its  senses  some 
day,  and  unite  with  gentleness.  Then 
harmony  will  reign,  and  the  man's  breast, 
in  its  own  little  circle,  will  be  the  reflection 
of  the  life  divine.  For  power  there  must 
be  to  lend  piety  and  goodness  efficiency, 
since  these  without  power  were  but  a 
structure  upon  sand.  Thou  wouldst  atone 
and  be  reconciled?  Knowest  thou  the 
meaning  of  the  words  ?  To  atone  and  be 
reconciled  is  to  rise  after  a  fall  purer,  bet- 
ter, than  before.  We  offer  sacrifices  to 
the  gods  and  call  them  '  atonement.' 
But  they  are  only  signs,  symbols,  not  the 
thing  itself.  No  external  act,  no  man, 
can  take  the  burden  of  guilt  from  thee. 
A  man's  atonement  is  within  his  own 
breast.  I  know  of  one  sacrifice,  dearer  to 
the  gods  than  rarest  incense-perfume  :  it 
is  thine  own  heart's  hatred,  thy  thirst  for 
vengeance.  If  thou  canst  not  tame  these 


Reconciliation  135 

— if  thou  canst  not  forgive, — then  hadst 
thou  better  stay  away  from  Balder's  fane. 
Then  is  this  temple  thou  hast  built  of  no 
good  to  thee.  Balder's  forgiveness  can- 
not be  bought  with  a  few  blocks  of  stone. 
There  can  be  no  reconciliation  where 
peace  is  not.  Be  reconciled  with  thy  foe 
and  with  thyself,  and  the  Golden-locked 
One  is,  as  of  yore,  thy  friend. 

"  There  was  once,  some  say,  another 
Balder,  far  away  in  the  South,  a  virgin's 
son.  All-Father  sent  him  to  make  dark 
riddles  clear,  and  rugged  paths  smooth. 
'  Peace '  was  his  battle-cry,  Love  was  his 
sword,  the  dove  of  Innocence  sat  on  his 
silver  helmet.  Gentle  was  his  life,  gentle 
his  teaching,  gently  he  died,  forgiving ; 
and  down  there,  among  palms,  his  grave 
is  shown.  His  word,  they  say,  survives 
him,  wanders  still  from  vale  to  vale,  soft- 
ens hard  hearts,  joins  hard  hands,  and 
founds  upon  a  gentler  earth  a  reign  of 
peace.  I  do  not  know  the  doctrine  well 
myself,  but  in  my  better  hours  I  seem  to 
feel  it  vaguely  in  my  heart.  And  so  does 
every  man,  Some  day,  I  know,  't  will 


136  Frithjof 

come  our  way,  with  white  dove-wings 
lightly  hovering  over  all  Norseland.  O 
hail,  thou  happy  race  of  men  that  then 
shalt  drink  at  the  new  fount  of  light, 
which  no  dense  cloud  will  obscure  as 
now !  Yet  scorn  not  us  who  with  un- 
blinking eyes  have  sought  the  splendour 
of  the  Sun  we  knew.  All-Father  is  One, 
but  he  has  many  heralds. 

"Thou,  Frithjof,  hatest  Bele's  sons. 
For  what  ?  For  that  they  would  not  give 
to  the  bonder's  son  their  sister,  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  race  which  traces  its  descent  back 
to  Valhalla's  thrones.  *  The  accident  of 
birth,'  sayest  thou,  '  is  not  merit  to  be 
proud  of.'  But  know,  O  youth,  no  man 
is  proud  of  his  merits  ;  men  take  pride 
only  in  their  luck,  the  gods'  free  gifts. 
Art  thou  not  proud  of  thy  heroic  deeds, 
of  thy  superior  might  and  sinews  of  steel  ? 
Yet  are  all  these  merits  of  thine?  Not 
more  than  the  King's  birth  is  his  own 
merit.  Respect  the  pride  of  others,  if 
thou  wouldst  claim  respect  for  thy  own 
pride.  And  now  that  King  Helge  is  no 
more > " 


Reconciliation  137 

"  What !  "  Frithjof  broke  in,  amazed  : 
"  Dead  ?  King  Helge  ?  where,  and  how  ?" 

"He  was,  as  thou  well  knowest,"  re- 
plied the  priest,  "at  war  with  the  Finns, 
while  thou  wert  building  here.  There  in 
Finnland,  upon  a  solitary  rock,  stood  an 
ancient  temple,  dedicated  to  their  god 
Jumala,  but  closed  and  forsaken  this  many 
a  long  year.  Above  the  entrance  there 
still  remained  a  quaint  old  image  of  the 
god,  tottering  and  threatening  hourly  to 
fall.  Yet  no  one  dared  approach,  either 
to  steady  or  take  it  down,  because  of  an 
old  prophecy,  dark  of  sense,  but  dreaded 
all  the  more,  that  '  he  who  first  came  near 
the  temple,  would  behold  Jumala'  Helge, 
hearing  of  the  prophecy,  went  into  one  of 
his  fits  of  rage  and  swore  to  pull  the  tem- 
ple down.  He  himself  dared  the  steep 
ascent,  but  found  the  door  locked,  and 
the  huge  rusty  key  stuck  fast  in  the  lock. 
Furiously  then  he  seized  and  shook  the 
half-rotten  pillars ;  they  gave  way  -with  a 
terrible  crash,  the  image  fell  on  the  King's 
head,  and  killed  him  on  the  spot :  he  had 
beheld  Jumala  !  The  tidings  were  brought 


138  Frithjof 

us  last  night  by  a  swift  messenger.  Now 
Halfdan  sits  alone  on  Bele's  throne.  Of- 
fer him  thy  hand,  sacrifice  to  the  gods  thy 
wrath :  this  sacrifice  Balder  and  I,  his 
priest,  demand  of  thee,  in  token  that  thou 
dost  seek  reconciliation  in  all  singleness 
of  heart.  If  thou  canst  not  do  this,  then 
is  all  thy  penitence  a  mockery,  then  had 
the  temple  better  been  left  unbuilt,  and  all 
my  words  are  wasted  breath." 

Here  Halfdan  stepped  across  the  brass 
threshold  and,  with  a  timid  look  which 
well  became  his  boyish  beauty,  stood  on 
one  side,  apart  from  the  dread  Sea-King, 
silent  and  expectant.  Slowly  Frithjof 
loosed  from  his  belt  the  sword,  the  dag- 
ger too,  and  laid  them  on  the  altar;  his 
gold-rimmed  shield  he  leaned  against  it, 
then,  unarmed,  approached  his  boyhood's 
friend,  so  untowardly  turned  into  a  foe. 

"  In  this  our  feud,"  he  said  in  gentle 
accents,  "  he  who  first  holds  out  his  hand 
for  peace  is  the  winner." 

King  Halfdan,  flushing  with  joy,  un- 
gloved his  hand  and  laid  it  in  that  other 
hand,  and  the  two,  long-parted,  joined  in 


Reconciliation  139 

a  new-made  bond,  as  strong  and  firm  as 
their  native  rocks.  The  aged  priest  now 
solemnly  spoke  the  words  which  loosed 
the  ban  and  took  the  curse  from  the  head 
late  doomed  to  lie  with  wolves.  And  even 
as  he  spoke,  Ingeborg  entered,  in  bridal 
robes  and  ermine  mantle,  many  noble 
maidens  following  her  as  stars  the  moon. 
With  happy  tears  she  fell  upon  her  broth- 
er's breast,  and  he  gently  placed  her  in 
Frithjofs  arms.  Then  was  performed 
the  wedding  rite,  and,  across  Balder's  al- 
tar, she  gave  her  hand  to  the  lover  of  her 
youth. 


NOTE   ON  THE   "  FRITHJOF-SAGA " 

OERHAPS  one  of  the  many  charms 
of  this  beautiful  story  is  that  it  is  a 
story  all  by  itself,  unconnected  with  the 
mythical  cycle  of  the  Edda,  with  very  little 
supernatural  agency,  and  that  only  in  ex- 
ternalities (the  magic  ship,  the  storm-gi- 
ants) ;  an  entirely  human,  vivid  picture  of 
Norse  life  just  before  it  was  perturbed 
and  changed  by  the  advent  of  Christian- 
ity,— probably  in  the  eighth  century.  An- 
tiquarians are  pretty  well  agreed  that  the 
Saga  was  written  down,  from  old  popu- 
lar ballads,  about  1300,  and  have  little 
doubt  that  the  groundwork  is  historical. 
Thorsten  and  Bele's  mounds  are  still 
shown  near  the  city  of  Bergen  ;  so  is  the 
rocky  headland  on  which  the  once  famous 
temple  of  Balder  stood ;  the  country 
around  Christiania  is  still  called  Hringa- 
rika,  "  the  realm  of  Ring." 
140 


Note  on  the  Frithjof-Saga     141 

The  Saga  in  its  old-Norse  version  is 
so  complete,  even  to  the  smallest  inci- 
dents, that  when  Esaias  Tegner,  Swe- 
den's national  poet,  took  it  in  hand,  he 
had  nothing  either  to  add  or  to  omit, 
nothing  to  invent,  but  only  to  soften  one 
or  two  crudenesses,  and  clothe  the  whole 
with  the  charm  of  his  poetic  conception, 
of  his  wonderful  imagery  and  diction. 

Folk-lore  and  popular  epic  poetry  were 
not  held  in  honour  by  the  literary  world 
of  the  beginning  of  this  century  :  it  was 
too  much  enthralled  by  the  pseudo-clas- 
sicism of  the  French  culture  of  the  last 
two  centuries,  and  too  much  fascinated 
with  the  coldly  rationalistic  philosophy  of 
which  Voltaire  and  the  Encyclopedists 
were  the  exponents.  It  is  well  known 
that  their  disciple,  King  Frederic  the 
Great  of  Prussia,  complained  to  one  of 
his  Paris  correspondents  that  some  fool 
of  a  bookworm  had  sent  him  some  ab- 
surd old  stories — trash  which  he  would 
like  to  throw  out  of  the  window.  The 
"trash"  was  the  first  modern-German 
version  of  the  "  Nibelungenlied."  Patriot- 


H2  Frithjof 

ism  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  the  re- 
vival of  folk-lore  in  the  different  Teutonic 
countries,  and  when  men  like  the  brothers 
Grimm  and  Karl  Simrock  in  Germany 
collected  nursery  tales  from  the  lips  of 
peasant  grandames  or  transcribed  into 
modern-German  prose  and  verse  the  old 
national  songs,  heroic  legends,  and  epics, 
they  avowedly  followed  up  the  national 
revolt  against  French  political  rule,  by 
raising  the  country's  intellectual  self-con- 
sciousness and  inciting  it  to  revolt  against 
the  tyranny  of  French  spiritual  domina- 
tion and  literary  fashion. 

The  same  movement  was  taken  up  and 
fostered  by  Adam  CEhlenschlseger  and 
Esaias  Tegner,  the  national  poets  of  Den- 
mark and  Sweden,  where  both  the  parti- 
sanship and  opposition  were  quite  as 
vehement  as  in  Germany,  because  if,  in 
these  remoter  countries,  the  political  yoke 
was  not  as  directly  oppressive,  the  spirit- 
ual thraldom  was  hardly  less  complete. 
At  the  present  day  it  seems  so  natural  that 
writers  should  take  the  subject-matter  of 
their  novels,  dramas,  poems,  if  not  from 


Note  on  the  Frithjof-Saga     143 

contemporary  life,  then  out  of  the  national 
treasury  of  legend  and  history,  that  we 
can  scarcely  realize  what  a  startling  inno- 
vation were  the  first  attempts  in  this  di- 
rection. Fortunately,  the  innovators  were 
the  master  minds  of  the  time,  which  had 
the  power  to  force  a  hearing  and,  once 
heard,  to  fascinate  and  to  convince.  This 
gift  of  fascination  Tegner  possessed  in 
the  highest  degree,  and,  while  he  himself 
doubted  his  success,  being  naturally  mod- 
est and  diffident,  and,  in  his  letters  to 
friends,  expressed  a  fear  lest  he  might 
have  injured  the  cause  of  his  beloved  folk- 
legends  by  unskilful  treatment  of  the  par- 
ticular Saga  he  had  selected, — the  poem 
took  the  country  by  storm  and,  in  its  fur- 
ther triumphant  march,  included  not  only 
the  entire  Northern  world,  but  even  the 
literary  circles  of  remote  nationalities. 
This  is  shown  by  the  number  of  metrical 
translations  of  it  in  existence :  twenty-one 
German  and  nearly  as  many  English, 
several  Danish,  French,  Dutch,  Polish, 
Latin,  and  one  Italian,  one  Russian,  one 
Hungarian,  one  Greek,  and  one  Icelandic. 


144 


Frithjof 


As  to  the  poet's  own  native  Sweden,  it  is 
said  that  there  is  hardly  a  peasant's  cabin 
where  a  copy  of  the  Frithjof -Saga  is  not 
treasured  by  the  side  of  the  Bible  and  the 
Hymnal,  the  three  mostly  forming  the 
entire  family  library.  This  is  popularity 
indeed ! 


ROLAND 

THE   PALADIN   OF   FRANCE 

"LA   CHANSON   DE   ROLAND" 

"THE  LAY  OF  ROLAND" 


145 


Ikfunctw  emulc 
5  u 


cfcd  mcf  otHrf. 


otr 


uertpdim  caff  ifanfuf  fi  of. 
c  utt  mrfdifif  fle  a  Amr  nea 


FACSIMILE  OF  A  PAGE  OF  THE     CHANSON  DE  ROLAND"  (LAY  OF 

ROLAND),  FROM  A  MS.  OF  THE  XIITH  CENTURY,  NOW 

AT  OXFORD,  IN  THE  BODLEIAN  LIBRARY. 


PART   FIRST 
GANELON'S    TREASON 

I 

KING    MARSILIUS     HOLDS    A    COUNCIL 
AT    SARAGOSSA 

CHARLES,  the  King  and  great  Em- 
X-*'  peror,  had  been  in  Spain  full  seven 
years,  and  had  conquered  the  highlands  all 
the  way  to  the  sea.  Not  a  castle  could 
stand  before  him,  not  a  city  was  left  with 
walls  unbroken,  except  Saragossa,  which 
is  on  a  mountain.  King  Marsilius  held  it 
himself, — the  Paynim  King  who  loved  not 
God,  but  served  Mahomet  and  Apollo.1 

1  Historical  accuracy  in  details  is  not  expected  of  these 
mediaeval  poets,  the  truth  of  whose  work  lies  in  the  repro- 
duction of  character  and  the  pictures  of  the  life  of  given 
periods.  This  first  paragraph  is  bristling  with  inaccuracies  as 

M7 


148  Roland 

One  morning  he  went  into  a  shady  or- 
chard, where  a  couch  of  precious  rugs  and 
luxurious  pillows  had  been  spread  for  him 
on  some  marble  steps.  Over  twenty  thou- 
sand men  stood  round,  waiting  on  his  will. 
He  called  to  him  his  dukes  and  counts  and 
spoke  to  them  as  follows : 

"  Hear  me,  lords ;  hear  what  evil  days 
have  come  upon  us.  Emperor  Charles, 
the  ruler  of  France,  for  our  destruction 
has  come  into  our  land.  I  have  no  army 
le/t  to  do  battle  with  him  or  to  break  up 
his  own.  Advise  me  then,  ye  my  wise 
men  and  true :  save  me  from  death  and 
shame." 

The  Paynim  knights  heard  in  blank 
distress  ;  not  one  had  a  single  word  to  say. 

At  last  Blancandrin  stepped  forward,  as 
one  who  would  speak.  He  was,  among 

regards  actual  historical  facts.  Charlemagne  had  been  in  Spain 
only  one  year,  not  seven.  He  was  not  yet  Emperor.  He  took 
that  title  in  800  A.D.,  while  the  disaster  at  Roncevaux  hap- 
pened in  778.  The  Moors  or  Saracens,  the  conquerors  of 
Spain,  were  Mussulmans  ;  and  everybody  knows  that  Mussul- 
mans worship  the  one  true  God  and  follow  the  law  of  Ma- 
homet, whom  they  hold  in  veneration  as  the  Prophet  of  God. 
As  for  the  Greek  heathen  god  Apollo,  they  did  not  so  much  as 
know  his  name. 


King  Marsilius  149 

his  peers,  a  man  of  great  repute — a  val- 
iant knight  and  wise  beyond  the  rest ;  al- 
ways ready  with  good  counsel,  to  help  his 
liege  lord  in  his  needs. 

"  Be  not  dismayed  even  yet,"  he  now  said 
to  the  King.  "  Send  to  Charles,  the  proud, 
the  haughty,  with  promises  of  faithful  serv- 
ice and  great  friendship,  and  with  gifts: 
bears,  and  lions,  and  hounds ;  seven  hun- 
dred camels,  falcons  that  have  clone  moult- 
ing ;  of  coined  gold  and  silver  four  hundred 
mule-loads — enough  to  pay  off  his  army. 
But  tell  him  he  has  made  war  in  this 
country  long  enough,  and  must  return 
home,  to  his  city  of  Aix  ;  that  you  will 
follow  him  thither  by  St.  Michael's  feast, 
receive  the  Christian  law,  and  be  thence- 
forth his  man,  in  all  honour  and  truth. 
And  if  he  asks  for  hostages,  let  him  have 
them — ten,  or  even  twenty,  the  better  to 
assure  him.  Let  us  send  our  own  sons  ;  I 
will  send  mine,  though  it  be  to  his  death  : 
better  they  should  lose  their  heads,  than 
that  we  here  should  lose  our  honour  and 
our  sovereignty,  and  be  made  beggars  all 
together." 


150  Roland 

The  Paynims  listened  and  approved : 
"It  were  well  done,"  they  said. 

Blancandrin  went  on  : 

"  By  this  right  hand,  and  by  this  beard 
which  the  breeze  blows  about  my  breast, 
you  shall  quickly  see  the  French  raise 
their  camp  and  return  to  their  own  land. 
Charles,  in  his  city  of  Aix,  will  celebrate 
St.  Michael's  Day  with  a  great  festival. 
The  day  will  pass,  the  term  set  by  you, 
with  no  sign  of  your  coming  ;  Charles  is 
terrible  in  wrath,  and  unrelenting.  He 
will  cut  off  our  hostages'  heads.  Still,  it 
is  better  so  than  that  we  should  lose  fair 
Spain  at  last,  and  suffer  endless  woes  and 
tribulations." 

Again  the  Paynims  approved  :  "  Well 
may  it  be  as  he  says." 

King  Marsilius  now  dismissed  the  coun- 
cil, and  kept  with  him  only  Blancandrin 
and  nine  more  of  his  most  trusty  knights, 
to  impart  to  them  his  design. 

"  Lords,"  he  began,  "  ye  shall  go  to 
Charlemagne,  where  he  now  is  encamped 
before  Cordova,  the  great  city,  which  he 
besieges.  Ye  will  bear  in  your  hands 


King  Marsilius  151 

olive  branches  in  token  of  peace  and  sub- 
mission. If  ye  have  craft  enough  to  make 
my  peace  with  him,  ye  shall  have  gold  and 
silver,  and  land  to  your  heart's  content." 

Quoth  the  Paynims  :  "  Our  liege  speaks 
well." 

"  Say  to  Charles  from  me,"  Marsilius 
went  on,  "  that  for  his  God's  sake  he  take 
pity  on  me ;  tell  him  that  before  a  month 
has  passed,  I  will  join  him  with  one  thou- 
sand of  my  noblest  knights,  receive  the 
Christian  law,  and  be  his  man  in  all  love 
and  truth." 

Said  Blancandrin  :  "  You  will  surely  get 
a  good  treaty." 

Marsilius  then  ordered  ten  white  mules 
to  be  brought,  which  had  been  sent  him 
some  time  before  by  the  King  of  Sicily, 
with  bits  of  gold  and  saddles  of  silver. 
These  the  ten  messengers  bestrode.  With 
olive  branches  in  their  hands  they  ap- 
peared before  Charles. 

Let  him  look  to  himself !  they  will  fool 
him  yet. 


II 


CHARLEMAGNE  HOLDS  A  COUNCIL  AT 
CORDOVA 

/""^HARLES  was  happy  and  in  the  best 
^^  of  humours.  He  had  just  taken 
Cordova,  torn  down  the  city  walls,  de- 
molished the  towers  with  his  war  engines. 
His  knights  had  found  much  booty,  in 
gold  and  silver,  in  precious  garments  and 
equipments.  Not  one  man  was  left  in 
the  city  but  was  either  killed  or  baptised. 
King  Charles  was  taking  his  ease  in  a 
vast  orchard.  With  him  were  his  nephew 
Roland,  and  Oliver,  the  two  insepara- 
ble friends,  Duke  Geoffrey  of  Anjou,  and 
many  more  —  fifteen  thousand  French 
knights  in  all.  They  were  seated  in 
groups  on  rugs  and  passed  the  time  with 
games  :  some  played  at  backgammon,  the 
153 


Charlemagne  Holds  a  Council     153 

older  and  wiser  ones  played  chess,  the 
youngsters  fenced.  Under  a  pine,  near  a 
wild-rose  bush,  was  a  throne  of  solid  gold  : 
there  the  King  sat,  looking  on,  well 
pleased,  of  mighty  stature  and  imperial 
bearing,  with  long  white  beard  and  snowy 
locks.  If  any  asked  for  him,  no  need  to 
point  him  out.  The  Paynim  messengers, 
alighting  from  their  mules,  saluted  him 
most  humbly  and  presented  the  gifts  sent 
by  Marsilius.  Their  spokesman,  Blan- 
candrin,  then  repeated  word  for  word  the 
message  with  which  he  was  entrusted. 

The  Emperor  sat  long  in  silence,  with 
head  bent  low  ;  for  he  was  never  hasty  in 
his  speech  ;  it  was  his  wont  to  take  his 
time  before  he  spoke.  When  at  length 
he  raised  his  brow,  his  countenance  was 
hard  and  stern. 

"  Ye  have  spoken  well,"  he  said  to  the 
messengers.  "  But  King  Marsilius  is  my. 
greatest  foe  :  in  how  far,  then,  can  I  trust 
these  words  of  yours  ?  " 

"  You  shall  have  noble  hostages,"  re- 
plied the  Saracen;  "ten,  fifteen,  nay 
twenty.  My  own  son  shall  be  of  the 


154  Roland 

number,  and  there  will  be  youths  of  birth 
still  nobler.  My  master  will  follow  you 
to  Aix,  where  God  has  made  the  healing 
springs  to  spurt  from  the  ground  for  you, 
and  there,  on  the  great  feast  of  St.  Michael, 
he  will  become  a  Christian  and  swear 
fealty  to  you." 

"It  is  the  only  way  in  which  he  still  can 
save  himself,"  replied  Charles. 

It  was  a  beautiful  evening,  with  a  cloud- 
less sun.  Charles  ordered  the  ten  mules 
taken  to  his  own  stables ;  then,  in  the 
great  orchard,  had  a  handsome  pavilion 
set  up  for  the  messengers,  who  slept  there 
under  the  guard  of  ten  men-at-arms  till  it 
was  bright  daylight.  Charles,  who  was 
an  early  riser,  did  not  have  them  called, 
but  was  up  himself  at  sunrise,  heard 
matins  and  early  mass,  then  sat  down  un- 
der the  pine  and  summoned  his  barons  to 
council ;  for  he  never  took  any  important 
decision  without  consulting  his  French 
nobles.  There  were  Ogier  the  Dane,  and 
Richard  of  Normandy,  Turpin  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Rheims,  the  brave  Count  of 
Gascony,  and  others  many.  Roland  came 


CHARLES  RECEIVES  THE  ENVOYS   OF  THE  HEATHEN   KINQ   MARSILIUS. 


Charlemagne  Holds  a  Council     155 

too,  followed  by  noble  and  valiant  Oliver, 
and — lackaday  he  should  have  been  there  ! 
—Roland's  stepfather  Ganelon,  the  felon 
and  arch-traitor. 

Charles  opened  that  most  disastrous 
council  by  repeating-  word  for  word  King 
Marsilius's  message. 

"  These  are  his  promises,"  he  con- 
cluded ;  "  the  question  is — will  he  keep 
them?" 

Before  any  one  could  say  a  word  in  re- 
ply, Roland  started  to  his  feet. 

"Would  you,"  he  cried,  "believe  any- 
thing Marsilius  says  ?  'T  is  seven  full 
years  since  we  came  to  Spain,  and  through- 
out the  war  he  has  shown  himself  faithless 
and  treacherous.  This  is  not  the  first 
time  he  sends  you  messengers  with  olive 
branches,  and  gifts,  and  promises.  Once 
already  fifteen  of  them  came,  and  said  ex- 
actly the  same  things.  You  took  counsel 
with  your  Frenchmen,  who,  seeing  you 
inclined  to  hear  them,  rashly  approved 
your  opinion  :  you  trusted  the  Paynim, 
and  sent  him  two  of  your  Counts,  Basil 
and  Basan.  He  took  their  heads  up  there, 


156  Roland 

in  his  mountains.  No,  no  !  Go  on  with 
the  war  as  you  have  begun  it ;  lead  on  to 
Saragossa,  lay  siege  to  it,  though  it  last 
your  lifetime  ;  so  will  you  best  avenge 
them  the  felon  slew." 

The  Emperor  sat  with  bowed  head, 
fingering  his  beard  and  twirling  his  mous- 
tache, and  with  no  word  replied  to  his 
nephew's  speech,  one  way  or  the  other. 
Silent,  too,  sat  the  Frenchmen,  all  except 
Ganelon.  He  rose,  stood  before  Charles, 
and  very  haughtily  began  his  discourse  : 

"  You  should  not  lend  your  ear  to  the 
words  of  fools.  Nor  to  mine,  nor  to  any- 
body's. Heed  nothing  but  your  own  ad- 
vantage. When  King  Marsilius  sends 
you  word  that  he  is  ready  to  become  your 
vassal  for  all  Spain  and  receive  our  faith, 
he  who  advises  you  to  reject  such  offers 
cares  little  when  or  how  we  die.  Pride 
should  not  sway  your  council.  Heed  not 
the  fools  ;  let  wise  men  have  their  say." 

Duke  Naimes  of  Bavaria  then  stepped 
forward,  old  and  wise,  white  with  the 
snows  of  many  winters ;  no  more  trusty 
vassal  had  the  King. 


Charlemagne  Holds  a  Council    157 

"  To  my  mind,"  he  said,  "  Count  Gane- 
lon  spoke  well.  Marsilius  is  beaten  in 
this  war ;  you  have  taken  all  his  castles, 
burned  his  cities,  defeated  his  armies,  and 
now  he  sues  for  mercy  at  your  hands.  It 
were  unchristian  to  press  him  further,  the 
more  that  he  offers  hostages  for  his  sure- 
ties. You  can  do  no  better  than  send 
one  of  your  barons  to  him,  for  there 
should  be  an  end  of  this  war." 

Said  the  Frenchmen  as  one  voice  :  "  The 
Duke  has  spoken  well ! " 

"  Then,  lords  and  barons,  whom  shall 
we  send  to  Saragossa  ?  "  asked  Charles. 

"  So  it  please  you,  my  liege,  I  will  go," 
said  Duke  Naimes. 

"  No  !  "  replied  Charles  ;  "you  are  too 
wise  a  man.  By  my  beard  and  whiskers, 
you  shall  not  go  so  far  from  me.  Sit 
down.  No  one  asks  anything  more  of 
you.  Again  I  ask,  my  lords  and  barons, 
whom  shall  we  send  to  Saragossa,  to  the 
Saracen  King  ?  " 

Said  Roland :  "  I  don't  see  why  I 
should  not  go." 

"  Certainly  not,"  broke  in  Count  Oliver ; 


158  Roland 

"  you  are  too  rash  and  fiery.  You  would 
be  sure  to  get  into  trouble.  /  had  better 
go,  if  it  please  the  King." 

"  Silence  both  ! "  cried  Charles.  "  You 
shall  not  stir  a  foot  in  this  matter,  neither 
of  you.  By  this  white  beard  of  mine, 
none  of  my  twelve  Peers  shall  go." 

Silence  fell  on  all.  They  sat  quiet  as 
chidden  boys. 

At  last  Turpin  the  Archbishop  rose 
from  his  seat,  and  addressed  Charles  in  a 
loud  voice,  as  one  having  authority : 

"  Sir  King,  send  none  of  your  barons. 
In  these  seven  years  they  have  had  more 
than  their  share  of  toil  and  dangers.  Give 
me  the  glove  and  wand.  I  will  go  seek 
the  Saracen  and  give  him  a  piece  of  my 
mind." 

But  again  the  King  angrily  rebuked 
him: 

"  Go  and  sit  down  on  that  white  rug ! 
Not  a  word  more,  till  you  are  addressed  ! 
French  knights,"  he  went  on,  "  you  must 
select  a  baron  from  my  own  land  to  be 
the  bearer  of  my  message  to  Marsilius." 

"  In    that    case,"  said   Roland,   "  send 


Charlemagne  Holds  a  Council    159 

Ganelon,  my  stepfather;  you  will  never 
find  a  fitter  !  " 

"  He  is  just  the  man  !  "  cried  all  the 
knights.  "  If  the  King  is  willing,  let  him 
go!" 

"  Ganelon,"  said  Charles  "step  nearer; 
from  my  hand  receive  the  glove  and  wand. 
You  are  chosen  unanimously — you  heard 
it." 

"  Not  so,"  retorts  Ganelon  ;  "  this  is  all 
Roland's  doing,  and  never  in  my  life  shall 
I  love  him  more.  Nor  Oliver,  because  he 
is  Roland's  friend.  Nor  the  twelve  Peers, 
because  they  all  love  him.  And  here, 
before  your  eyes,  Sir  King,  I  challenge 
them  all!" 

"  Curb  your  temper,"  Charles  remarked, 
sternly.  "  It  is  my  will ;  that  is  enough." 

"  I  see  I  must  go,"  said  Ganelon  ;  "  but 
it  will  be  with  me  as  it  was  with  Basil  and 
his  brother  Basan  :  who  that  way  goes, 
does  not  return.  At  least,  Sir  King,  for- 
get not  that  your  sister  is  my  wife.  I 
have  a  son,  Baldwin,  the  prettiest  varlet 
you  ever  saw,  and  if  he  lives,  he  will  grow 
into  a  bold  warrior.  I  leave  to  him  my 


160  Roland 

lands  and  fiefs.1  Take  good  care  of  him, 
I  pray  you.  As  for  me,  I  shall  never  see 
him  more." 

"You  are  too  tender-hearted,"  said 
Charles,  coldly.  "  It  is  my  will,  and  you 
must  go." 

Ganelon's  anguish  was  pitiful  to  behold. 
He  threw  to  the  ground  his  cloak  of  sables 
and  stood  in  his  long  silk  tunic.  His 
green  eyes  gleamed  viciously,  and  his  face 
was  fierce.  Yet  even  in  this  mood  the 
Peers  could  not  take  their  eyes  off  him,  he 
was  so  handsome,  with  his  tall  and  grace- 
ful figure,  broad-hipped  and  supple. 

"  You  fool ! "  he  cried,  addressing  Ro- 
land, "what  makes  you  rave  like  this 
against  me  ?  All  the  world  knows  I  am 
your  stepfather,  and  that  is  why  you  have 

1  A  fief  was  land  held  from  one  superior  in  rank  on  certain 
conditions.  The  holder  of  the  fief,  or  vassal,  was  bound  to 
render  certain  services  to  his  liege  lord,  the  principal  of  which 
was  the  duty  of  attending  him  in  war,  with  a  fixed  number  of 
knights,  men-at-arms,  and  horses,  kept  at  his  own  expense. 
A  vassal  could  in  his  turn  bestow  portions  of  the  land  on 
others,  so  they  were  of  noble  birth,  on  similar  terms,  and  thus 
have  vassals  of  his  own.  A  king  could  be  the  vassal  of 
another  more  powerful  king.  Such  was  the  ladder  of  feudal 
land  tenure  which  prevailed  all  through  the  Middle  Ages, 
and  which  is  known  under  the  name  of  the  feudal  system. 


Charlemagne  Holds  a  Council    161 

a  spite  against  me,  and  now  doom  me  to 
this  embassy.  Have  your  way  !  But  if, 
so  God  will,  I  come  back  alive,  I  will 
bring  down  on  you  such  trouble  and  sor- 
row as  will  last  you  your  lifetime." 

"  This  is  mere  wild  talk,"  replied  Ro- 
land. "  Everybody  knows  I  take  no  ac- 
count of  threats.  A  wise  and  experienced 
man  is  needed  for  this  embassy,  and  there- 
fore I  proposed  you.  Yet,  if  the  King 
will  let  me,  I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  go 
in  your  place." 

"  You  shall  not  go  in  my  place,"  retorted 
Ganelon  ;  "  you  are  not  my  vassal,  and  I 
am  not  your  liege  lord.  Charles  orders 
me  for  this  service,  and  I  will  go.  But 
once  there,  I  know  I  shall  do  some  mad 
thing  or  other,  to  give  vent  to  my  wrath." 

At  this,  Roland  laughed  aloud,  and  this 
so  incensed  the  Count,  his  heart  was  like 
to  have  split  with  rage.  He  was  as  one 
bereft  of  sense. 

"I  hate  you!"  he  hissed,  "for  I  owe 
it  to  you  that  this  iniquitous  choice  has 
fallen  on  me." 

Then,  mastering  his  fury  with  a  great 


162  Roland 

effort,  he  addressed  Charles  with  proper 
respect  : 

"  Great  Emperor,  you  see  me  here  be- 
fore you,  ready  to  do  your  will." 

"  Fair  Sir  Ganelon,"  said  Charles,  "  lis- 
ten :  You  shall,  from  me,  say  to  Marsilius 
that  he  must  become  my  vassal  and  re- 
ceive holy  baptism.  Then  will  I  give  him 
half  of  Spain  in  fief ;  the  other  half  will 
be  for  Roland.  If  Marsilius  refuses  these 
terms,  I  will  go  and  lay  siege  to  Saragossa, 
and  he  shall  be  made  captive  and  bound  by 
force  ;  to  Aix,  my  seat  of  empire,  shall  he 
be  taken  straight,  by  sentence  there  to  die, 
in  great  sorrow  and  shame.  Now  take- 
this  letter  with  my  seal  attached,  and  with 
your  own  right  hand  give  it  to  the  Paynim 
King." 

With  the  letter  the  Emperor  gave  the 
glove  from  his  right  hand  to  Ganelon, 
who  wished  himself  a  thousand  miles 
away.  As  he  put  out  his  hand  for  it,  the 
glove  fell  to  the  ground. 

"  O  God  !  what  may  this  portend  ?  "  the 
barons  cried  in  alarm.  "  Surely  from  this 
embassy  great  harm  will  come  to  us." 


Charlemagne  Holds  a  Council    163 

"  Time  will  show,"  said  Ganelon.  Then, 
to  the  Emperor :  "  Let  me  now  crave  my 
leave.  Since  I  must  go,  there  is  no  use 
in  tarrying." 

"  Go,"  said  the  King,  "  for  Jesus'  hon- 
our and  for  mine." 

Then  with  the  right  hand  he  blessed 
him  and  signed  him  with  the  cross,  and 
gave  him  the  wand  and  letter. 

Without  more  delay  Count  Ganelon 
hied  him  to  his  quarters,  and  equipped 
himself  with  his  handsomest  armour.  As 
he  mounted  his  piebald  charger,  all  the 
knights  who  stood  around  to  see  the  last  ' 
of  him  broke  into  tears  and  wailings  : 

"  O  baron,  how  hard  your  lot !  You 
have  been  so  long  at  court  and  were  al- 
ways held  in  such  high  honour  by  all ! 
As  for  him  who  picked  you  out  for  this 
duty,  Charlemagne  himself  shall  be  no 
protect "cro^n  htm.  ..Jt  was  ill-advised  of 
Cour  Such  is  his  pleasure,"  replied  >w* 
erfirenchman  ;  "  and  the  man  is  not  born 
uSvrho  could  stand  against  him." 

"The  French  are  most  valiant,"  went 
"  on  the  Saracen  ;    "  but  your  counts  and 
165 


1 64  Roland 

bachelors  ?  No,  in  sooth  !  For  one  to 
die  is  enough.  As  for  you,  return  to 
sweet  France,  take  my  greeting  to  my 
wife,  and  to  my  father,  and  to  Baldwin 
my  son.  Guard  him  well,  and  hold  him 
for  your  lord." 

With  this  he  started  on  his  way. 


_— *~-~--*" *^~ 
"rts  ne  put  out  his  hand  for  i, 

glove  fell  to  the  ground. 

"  O  God  !  what  may  this  portend  ? "  . 
barons  cried  in  alarm.     "  Surely  from  tl 
embassy  great  harm  will  come  to  us." 


Ill 

GANELON'S  EMBASSY  AND  TREASON 

FOR  some  time  Ganelon  rode  through 
an  olive  wood,  till  he  joined  the  Sar- 
acen envoys,  Blancandrin  having  ridden 
slowly  on  purpose  to  let  him  overtake 
them.  The  two  soon  fell  to  talking,  each 
trying  to  sound  the  other,  at  which  game, 
both  being  passing  wily,  they  were  well 
matched.  Said  the  Saracen  : 

"A  wonderful  man  is  Charles!  His 
conquests  extend  as  far  as  the  world. 
But  what  makes  him  so  persistent  in  hunt- 
ing us  down  here  in  our  own  land  ?" 

"  Such  is  his  pleasure,"  replied  the 
Frenchman  ;  "  and  the  man  is  not  born 
who  could  stand  against  him." 

"  The  French  are  most  valiant,"  went 
on  the  Saracen  ;  "  but  your  counts  and 
165 


1 66  Roland 

dukes  serve  their  lord  but  ill  in  thus  ad- 
vising him.  They  are  ruining  him,  and 
many  with  him." 

"  I  know  of  none,"  replied  Ganelon, 
"  whom  this  blame  would  fit,  save  only 
Roland,  and  he  will  yet  be  brought  to 
shame.  His  arrogance  passes  all  bounds, 
and  unless  somebody  puts  him  out  of  the 
world,  we  never  shall  have  peace." 

Said  Blancandrin  :  "  He  must  be  very 
cruel  and  unjust.  But  who  supports  him 
in  his  arrogance?" 

"  The  French,"  replied  Ganelon.  "  They 
all  love  him  and  will  never  fail  him.  He 
is  lavish  with  presents — steeds  and  mules, 
silken  stuffs  and  armours.  Even  the  Em- 
peror he  plies  with  gifts.  Oh,  he  will  yet 
conquer  all  the  countries,  even  to  the 
East." 

Here  the  Saracen  cast  a  sidelong  criti- 
cal glance  at  his  companion  :  he  thought 
him  handsome,  but  detected  the  felon 
look  in  his  eyes.  Ganelon  felt  the  glance, 
and  a  shiver  ran  through  his  frame.  The 
Saracen  must  have  been  satisfied  with 
what  he  saw,  for  he  now  spoke  out  freely. 


Ganelon's  Embassy  167 

"  Listen  !  "  he  said  ;  "  would  it  not 
please  you  to  take  revenge  on  Roland  ? 
Well,  then,  by  Mahomet !  give  him  up  to 
us.  King  Marsilius  is  courteously  in- 
clined, and  all  his  wealth  will  be  yours  to 
choose  from." 

Ganelon  heard,  but  said  never  a  word. 
He  rode  on,  with  his  chin  on  his  breast. 

By  the  time  they  reached  Saragossa  the 
two  had  become  sworn  allies  and  had 
agreed  on  the  manner  in  which  they  would 
get  rid  of  Roland.  They  dismounted  un- 
der a  yew,  near  where,  under  a  great  pine, 
on  a  throne  all  draped  with  Oriental  silken 
stuffs,  sat  he  who  had  till  lately  been  King 
of  all  Spain.  Twenty  thousand  Saracens 
stood  around  him,  but  not  a  word,  not  a 
breath  was  heard,  so  great  was  their  anxi- 
ety to  hear  the  news,  when  the  messen- 
gers arrived. 

Blancandrin  approached  Marsilius,  lead- 
ing Ganelon  by  the  hand. 

"  All  hail !  "  he  began,  "  in  the  name  of 
Mahomet  and  Apollo,  whose  holy  law  we 
follow  !  We  delivered  your  messsage  to 
Charles,  He  lifted  both  his  hands  to 


1 68  Roland 

heaven,  gave  thanks  to  his  God,  and  made 
no  other  answer.  But  he  sent  you  one  of 
his  noblest  barons,  a  most  powerful  man 
in  France.  From  him  you  shall  learn 
whether  you  are  to  have  peace  or  no." 

"  Let  him  speak  !"  said  Marsilius;  "we 
will  hear  him." 

Ganelon  took  just  a  moment  to  collect 
his  spirits — for  it  required  courage,  un- 
protected as  he  was,  to  deliver  such  a 
message  as  Charles  had  given  him.  He 
did  so,  however,  without  omitting  a  word, 
and  with  unquaking  voice.  Marsilius  was 
so  infuriated  when  he  had  heard  it  to  the 
end,  that  he  would  have  hurled  at  the  en- 
voy a  golden-shafted  javelin  which  he  held 
in  his  hand,  had  his  arm  not  been  seized. 
Ganelon  saw  the  motion  and  drew  his 
sword  about  two  inches  from  the  scabbard. 

"  As  long  as  I  have  my  sword,"  he 
cried,  "it  shall  not  be  said  that  I  died 
alone  in  foemen's  land.  Some  of  their 
best  blood  shall  pay  for  mine." 

The  Saracens  had  hard  work  to  prevent 
an  affray ;  but  at  last  they  prevailed  on 
the  King  to  sit  down  again.  The  French- 


Ganelon's  Embassy  169 

man,  however,  would  not  give  up  his 
sword  ;  he  held  it  fast  by  the  golden  hilt. 
The  Paynims  looked  at  him  admiringly. 
"  Truly,"  they  said  to  each  other,  "this  is 
a  noble  baron  !  "  As  for  Ganelon,  he  once 
more  approached  the  throne,  and  pre- 
sented the  Emperor's  letter.  Marsilius 
took  it,  still  pale  with  suppressed  rage. 
But  his  son  was  not  to  be  appeased. 

"  Sir  King  !  "  he  cried,  "  such  speech 
as  this  man  has  uttered  is  death.  Give 
him  to  me — and  I  will  deal  with  him  ! " 

Never,  perhaps,  was  man  nearer  to  his 
death  than  Ganelon  at  this  instant.  Yet 
he  kept  his  countenance  and,  brandishing 
his  sword,  stood  with  his  back  against  the 
trunk  of  the  pine.  Then  Marsilius,  to 
put  an  end  to  the  tumult,  rose  and  walked 
into  his  private  gardens,  taking  with  him 
only  his  son,  his  uncle  and  nearest  friend, 
the  Caliph,  white-haired,  crafty  Blancan- 
drin,  and  a  few  of  his  wisest  and  most 
trusted  counsellors.  Then  Blancandrin 
announced  his  own  particular  tidings, 
which  he  would  not  tell  before  the  general 
crowd, 


1 70  Roland 

"  Send  for  the  Frenchman,"  he  said  to 
the  King;  "he  has  pledged  himself  to 
us." 

"  Bring  him  yourself,"  commanded  the 
King. 

And  the  wily  old  Saracen  led  him  in  by 
the  hand,  and  brought  him  before  Mar- 
silius.  Then  and  there  was  hatched  the 
infamous  treason. 

"  Fair  Sir,"  the  King  addressed  him, 
"  I  was  blinded  by  anger  just  now,  when 
I  offered  to  strike  you.  With  these  sables 
let  me  make  amends  :  they  are  worth  five 
hundred  pounds  in  gold." 

And  with  his  own  hands  he  clasped  the 
precious  mantle  on  the  Frenchman's  shoul- 
ders, who  took  them,  nothing  loth. 

"  I  will  not  refuse  a  friendly  gift,"  he 
said,  "and  may  God  requite  you  at  His 
pleasure." 

"  Know  then,  Ganelon,"  began  the 
King,  "  that  I  am  minded  to  bear  you 
much  love.  But  what  we  speak  here 
must  remain  a  dead  secret.  Now,  I  would 
hear  you  tell  of  Charlemagne.  Old,  is  he 
not?  worn  out  and  feeble?  Why,  he 


Ganelon's  Embassy          171 

must  be  two  hundred  years  old!1  And 
through  how  many  lands  has  he  not 
dragged  his  body !  How  many  hard 
knocks  has  he  not  received  upon  his  buck- 
ler-shield !  How  many  mighty  kings  has 
he  not  turned  into  beggars  !  Will  he 
never  be  tired  of  all  these  wars  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Ganelon,  "  not  he  !  No 
one  that  sees  him  and  knows  him  well 
but  will  tell  you  that  he  is  still  a  man  in 
his  prime.  I  never  could  find  words  that 
would  do  justice  to  his  great  worth  and 
goodness.  God  has  irradiated  him  with 
virtue.  I  would  rather  lose  my  life  than 
my  place  among  his  barons.  But  he  will 
never  stop  making  war  as  long  as  his 
nephew  lives.  There  is  not  Roland's 
match  under  the  vault  of  heaven.  His 
comrade  Oliver,  too,  is  a  man  of  great 
prowess.  The  twelve  Peers,  beloved  of 
Charles,  lead  the  vanguard  of  twenty 
thousand  knights.  He  is  well  guarded 
and  need  fear  no  living  man." 

"  Fair  Sir,"  Marsilius   interrupted  him, 

1  As  a  matter  of  history,  Charles  was  only  thirty-six  in  778; 
he  was  born  in  742. 


172  Roland 

"my  people  are  the  finest  in  the  world, 
and  I  can  still  muster  four  hundred  thou- 
sand knights  to  fight  Charles  and  the 
French." 

"  And  still  you  would  not  beat  them," 
replied  Ganelon,  "but  only  lose  great 
numbers  of  your  men.  Leave  all  this 
folly,  and  keep  to  the  wiser  course  :  give 
Charles  enough  money  to  make  his  men 
stare,  and  send  the  twenty  hostages.  He 
will  then  surely  return  to  France,  leaving 
behind  a  strong  rear-guard  for  protection. 
Of  that  I  am  well  assured  Roland  will  be 
put  in  command,  with  brave  and  court- 
eous Oliver.  And  then,  believe  me,  the 
two  Counts  are  as  good  as  dead.  This 
will  be  a  great  blow  to  Charles's  pride,  and 
he  will  never  want  to  fight  you  more. 
He  might  better  lose  his  right  arm  than 
Roland." 

"  But  how  shall  I  make  sure  of  Ro- 
land ? "  anxiously  asked  the  King. 

"  There  will  be  twenty  thousand 
French,"  replied  the  traitor.  "  Well, 
send  a  hundred  thousand  men.  I  do  not 
say  they  will  not  suffer  cruelly  in  the  first 


Ganelon's  Embassy  173 

onslaught ;  but  let  another  follow,  and  a 
third — Roland  cannot  hold  out  forever." 

Marsilius  was  so  delighted  that  he 
clasped  the  Frenchman  to  his  breast. 

"  What  need  of  further  talk  ?  "  he  said. 
"  Best  make  things  safe  and  fast.  Swear 
to  me  without  more  ado  that  you  will 
compass  his  death.  Swear  that  he  will 
be  in  the  rear-guard,  and  I  will  swear  on 
my  law,  that,  if  I  find  him  there,  I  will 
fight  him." 

Says  Ganelon  :  "  Your  will  be  done  !  " 
and  on  the  relics  in  the  pommel  of  his 
sword  swears  to  his  treason.  'T  is  done 
— and  he  a  felon  forevermore  ! 

Marsilius  then,  upon  the  book  of  Ma- 
homet's law,  swears  his  own  oath. 

And  now  the  Paynim  knights  press 
round  the  Frenchman  with  offers  of 
friendship  and  embraces,  with  presents 
too,  each  vying  with  the  rest.  One  gives 
him  a  choice,  richly  mounted  sword,  an- 
other a  helmet  of  finest  workmanship. 
Even  the  Queen,  fair  Bramimonda,  ap- 
proaches him  with  gracious  words  : 

"  Fair  Sir,  I  will  love  you  greatly,  for 


1 74  Roland 

my  lord  and  all  his  knights  hold  you  in 
high  esteem.  I  want  you  to  take  this 
pair  of  armlets  to  your  wife ;  they  are  all 
gold,  amethysts,  and  rubies.  Finer  you 
will  not  find  in  Rome,  and  I  doubt  whether 
your  Emperor  ever  had  as  fine." 

"  We  are  yours  to  command,"  he  an- 
swers, and  puts  away  the  jewels  in  his 
boot. 

Marsilius  now  called  to  his  treasurer : 
"  Are  the  gifts  for  Charles  in  readiness  ?  " 
"  They  are,"  answered  the  man  ;  "  seven 
hundred  camels  laden  with  gold  and  silver, 
and  twenty  hostages,  the  noblest  in  the 
land." 

Marsilius  once  more  clasped  Ganelon 
in  his  arms.  Then  holding  him  from  him, 
with  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  look- 
ing him  sharply  in  the  eye  : 

"  Thou  art  a  brave  man,"  he  said  "  and 
a  wise.  But,  in  the  name  of  that  law 
which  you  Christians  hold  sacred,  I 
charge  thee,  never  change  thy  mind 
about  this,  nor  turn  against  us  now.  I 
will  give  largely  of  my  wealth  to  thee  : 
ten  mule-loads  now  of  finest  gold  of 


Ganelon's  Embassy          175 

Araby,  and  as  much  more  every  year. 
Now  take  the  keys  of  this  great  city  and 
give  them  to  Charles  with  the  treasure 
and  the  hostages.  But  be  sure  to  have 
Roland  placed  in  the  rear-guard,  that  I 
may  find  him  there." 

"  Methinks  I  am  tarrying  too  long," 
says  Ganelon,  and,  vaulting  into  the 
saddle,  starts  at  once  upon  his  return 
journey. 

Charles  was  already  on  his  way  to 
France,  and  had  reached  Valtierra,  one 
of  the  cities  taken  for  him  by  Roland, 
and  so  thoroughly  sacked  and  ruined 
that  it  remained  a  desert  for  full  a  hun- 
dred years  after.  There  he  staid  en- 
camped, to  wait  for  news  from  Ganelon 
and  the  Spanish  tribute ;  and  there  one 
morning,  at  dawn,  his  envoy  found  him. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning,  with  a 
cloudless  sun.  The  Emperor  had  risen 
early,  as  was  his  wont,  had  heard  matins 
and  mass,  and  was  sitting  on  the  green- 
sward, before  his  tent.  Roland  was  there, 
and  Oliver,  and  Duke  Naimes,  with  many 
others.  It  was  here  that  Ganelon  pre- 


1 76  Roland 

sented  himself  and  began  his  lying  report, 
addressing  the  King : 

"  Greeting  in  the  name  of  God  ! — Here 
I  bring  you  the  keys  of  Saragossa,  and 
much  treasure,  with  twenty  hostages : 
place  them  under  good  guard.  Valiant 
King  Marsilius  doth  entreat  you  not  to 
blame  him,  that  he  does  not  send  you  his 
uncle  the  Caliph.  I  have  seen  with  my 
own  eyes  three  hundred  thousand  men-at- 
arms,  in  full  armour,  embark  upon  the 
sea,  under  the  Caliph's  command.  They 
were  leaving  the  country,  because  they 
were  not  willed  to  accept  the  Christian 
faith.  But  they  had  not  sailed  four 
leagues  from  shore  when  they  were  over- 
taken by  a  gale  and  storm.  They  were 
all  drowned  and  will  be  seen  no  more. 
Had  the  Caliph  been  alive,  I  should  have 
brought  him.  As  to  the  Paynim  King, 
hold  it  for  certain  that,  ere  a  month  has 
passed,  he  will  have  followed  you  to  your 
kingdom  of  France,  there  to  receive  the 
Christian  law  and  become  your  humble 
vassal." 

"  Thanks  be  given  to  God  ! "  said  the 


Ganelon's  Embassy          177 

King.  "  Friend  Ganelon,  you  have  ac- 
quitted yourself  well,  and  shall  be  well 
rewarded." 

A  thousand  clarions  then  are  sounded 
through  the  army.  The  French  break 
camp,  fold  the  tents,  load  the  pack-horses 
and  mules,  and  start  on  their  way  to  the 
sweet  land  of  France. 


IV 

THE    REAR-GUARD—ROLAND'S    DOOM 

"HTHE  war  is  over!"  That  was  the 
A  thought  uppermost  in  Charles's 
mind  as  he  rode  on  blithely  in  the  direc- 
tion of  his  own  sweet  France.  At  the 
end  of  that  first  day's  march,  at  eventide, 
Count  Roland  planted  his  banner  on  the 
top  of  a  hill,  while  the  French  scattered 
over  the  country,  pitching  their  tents 
wherever  the  fancy  struck  them.  The 
Paynim  host  meanwhile  rode  in  their  rear 
and  on  their  flanks,  through  wide  valleys, 
in  mailed  hauberk  or  steel  corslet,  swords 
loose  at  the  belt,  helmets  laced  to  the 
neck-piece  of  the  armour,  shields  and 
lances  all  ready  for  action.  They  halted, 
four  hundred  thousand  of  them,  in  a  wood 
for  the  night.  Oh  that  the  French  could 
178 


The  Rear-Guard  179 

have  seen  through  the  intervening  mount- 
ains ! 

The  night  was  moonless  and  very  dark. 
Charles  slept,  all  unsuspecting.  He  had 
a  dream :  he  thought  he  was  riding 
through  a  narrow  gorge  in  the  mountains, 
holding  in  his  hand  his  lance  of  hard 
ash-wood,  when  suddenly  Count  Ganelon 
wrenched  it  from  him  and  broke  it  into 
splinters. 

Charles  did  not  wake.  Then  he  had 
another  dream.  He  was  at  his  own  city 
of  Aix  on  the  Rhine.  A  bear  attacked 
him  and  bit  his  right  arm  so  cruelly,  the 
flesh  was  lacerated  to  the  bonea  Then, 
from  the  mountains  of  Ardenne,  a  leopard 
rushed  on  him  and  also  attacked  him  most 
fiercely.  But  suddenly  a  greyhound  came 
to  the  rescue  from  the  palace  in  leaps  and 
bounds,  bit  off  the  bear's  right  ear,  and 
furiously  assaulted  the  leopard.  "  A  stu- 
pendous battle  !  "  cried  the  French,  and 
wondered  who  would  win. 

Still  Charles  slept  on.  The  day  broke 
clear  and  bright,  a  thousand  clarions 
roused  the  army,  and  Charles,  sitting  on 


i8o  Roland 

his  charger,  ready  for  the  march,  ad- 
dressed his  barons  : 

"  Lords,  ye  see  those  narrow  passes  and 
defiles  ;  whom  shall  I  leave  behind  with 
the  rear-guard,  to  hold  them  against  pos- 
sible pursuit  ?  " 

"  Roland,  my  stepson  ! "  Ganelon  cried 
at  once.  "You  have  no  braver  baron,  and 
our  army  will  be  safe  under  his  guard." 

Charles  looked  at  him  with  displeasure.* 

"  You  are  the  Devil  incarnate,"  he  said. 
"  What  mortal  rage  possesses  you  ?  And 
who  is  to  lead  the  vanguard  before  me  ?  " 

"  Ogier  of  Denmark,"  Ganelon  quickly 
replied  ;  "  he  is  most  fit  for  the  post." 

When  Roland  heard  that  the  choice 
had  fallen  on  him  he  spoke  in  true 
knightly  fashion  : 

"  Sir  stepfather,  I  must  ever  love  you 
greatly  and  be  beholden  to  you  that  you 
have  named  me  for  such  honour.  Charles, 
I  vow,  will  not  be  a  loser  thereby.  No- 
thing shall  he  miss  if  I  know  it — not  a  pal- 
frey or  charger,  not  a  mule  or  a  pack-horse, 
— but  good  blows  will  be  exchanged  first." 

"  You  say  true,  and  well   I   know   it," 


The  Rear-Guard  181 

said  Ganelon,  who  saw  that  Roland  was 
wroth  with  him,  though  he  would  not 
show  it,  and  now  attempted  to  propitiate 
him.  But  Roland  ignored  the  clumsy 
flattery  and  spoke  to  Charles  : 

"  Give  me  that  bow  you  hold  in  your 
hand.  No  fear  of  my  dropping  it  as 
Ganelon  dropped  your  glove." 

The  Emperor  sat  still  and  thoughtful, 
with  bowed  head,  twisting  his  beard,  and 
ere  he  knew  it  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes. 
As  he  gave  Roland  the  bow  he  said : 

"  Surely  you  know,  fair  nephew,  that  I 
intend  to  leave  with  you  half  my  army." 

"  Never  in  the  world  ! "  broke  in  the 
Count.  "  Heaven  confound  me  if  I 
shame  my  blood  !  I  will  take  twenty 
thousand  French  knights,  not  a  man 
more.  As  for  you,  go  your  ways  in  all 
peace  of  mind :  you  need  fear  no  man  so 
long  as  I  am  alive." 

Count  Roland  now  goes  to  his  tent  to 
arm  himself.  He  dons  his  hauberk  of 
shining  mail,  laces  his  helmet  to  his  arm- 
our, girds  on  his  own  good  sword,  Du- 
rendal  of  the  golden  hilt,  and  hangs  on 


1 82  Roland 

his  neck  by  a  broad  baldrick  his  shield  all 
flower-painted  ;  of  all  his  steeds  he  mounts 
his  favourite,  Veillantif.  In  his  right 
hand  he  takes  his  lance  with  the  white 
pennon,  of  which  the  golden  fringe  falls 
down  to  the  hilt  of  his  sword.  Around 
him  range  themselves  his  comrade  Oliver, 
Gerin,  and  Gerier,  the  valiant  brothers ; 
Otho  and  Berenger,  and  Duke  Samson, 
and  sundry  more  of  Charles's  most  loved 
companions.  "  By  my  life !  I  too  will 
stay  with  you,"  says  Turpin,  the  warlike 
Archbishop  of  Rheims.  Between  them 
they  select  twenty  thousand  knights. 

That  same  day  the  army  entered  the 
pass  of  Roncevaux — a  place  to  shudder 
at,  so  high  are  the  mountains,  so  deep 
and  dark  the  valleys,  so  narrow  and 
rugged  the  gorge,  overtopped  on  both 
sides  with  dizzy  black  rocks.  The  tramp 
of  the  horses  was  heard  for  miles  around. 
There  was  something  gloomy  and  depress- 
ing about  the  place,  and  there  was  not 
one  but  gave  way  to  the  mysterious  influ- 
ence. They  fell  to  thinking  of  their  own 
domains,  their  noble  wives,  and  fair  young 


The  Rear-Guard  183 

daughters,  and  all  felt  the  melting  mood 
upon  them.  But  the  most  sorrowful  of  all 
was  Charles,  for  he  was  leaving  his  nephew 
in  this  dreadful  pass.  The  twelve  Peers 
with  their  twenty  thousand  men  entered 
it  along  with  the  main  body,  but  did  not 
come  out  at  the  same  time,  for  were  they 
not  to  stay  behind,  to  protect  the  others 
that  were  to  go  before,  all  the  way  home  ? 
Therefore  was  it  that  Charles  wept  and 
hid  his  face  in  the  folds  of  his  mantle. 

"  What  thought  weighs  on  you  so  heav- 
ily?" asked  old  Duke  Naimes,  who  rode 
nearest  to  the  King. 

"  You  wrong  me  by  asking,"  replied 
Charles.  "  My  heart  is  so  full  of  grief,  I 
must  weep.  Ganelon  will  be  the  ruin  of 
France.  Last  night,  in  a  dream  sent  by 
my  guardian  angel,  I  saw  him  break  my 
lance  between  my  own  hands, — this  same 
Ganelon  who  made  me  put  my  nephew  in 
command  of  the  rear-guard.  And  now  I 
have  left  Roland  in  this  foreign  land ! 
Oh !  if  I  lose  him — my  God  !  I  shall 
never  find  his  like." 

The  great  Emperor  let  his  tea,rs  flow 


1 84  Roland 

freely ;  all  looked  on  him  with  pity,  and 
all  were  moved  with  a  strange,  boding 
fear  for  Roland.  Ganelon  saw  it  all,  and, 
knowing  what  was  coming,  kept  his  coun- 
sel— for  was  he  not  paid  to  keep  it  ? 

Marsilius,  in  the  meantime,  had  sum- 
moned all  his  Paynim  nobles ;  four  hun- 
dred thousand  came  together  in  three 
days, — and  the  drum  was  heard  in  all  the 
streets  of  Saragossa.  On  the  top  of  the 
city's  highest  tower  the  statue  of  Ma- 
homet was  set  up  for  all  to  pray  to  and 
adore.1  Then  they  rode  in  furious  haste 
across  country,  over  mounts  and  vales,  till 
they  saw  from  afar  the  banners  of  the 
French — the  rear-guard  with  the  Peers ! 
They  halted  and  mustered  their  forces  in 
battle  array. 

King  Marsilius's  nephew  rode  out  in 
front  of  the  ranks  and  declared  his  inten- 
tion of  engaging  Roland  himself  in  single 
combat,  asking  as  the  one  boon  he  craved, 

1  Another  glaring  incongruity  :  the  Mussulmans  are  for- 
bidden by  Mahomet's  law  to  counterfeit  the  human  form 
either  in  painting  or  sculpture.  This  prohibition  was 
prompted  by  excessive  fear  of  a  possible  leaning  towards, 
idolatry. 


The  Rear-Guard  185 

that  the  Christian  chief  be  left  to  his 
prowess  alone.  At  the  same  time  he 
called  on  the  King  to  choose  eleven 
knights  who  should,  with  him,  be  the 
match  of  the  twelve  French  Peers. 
Eleven  champions  at  once  eagerly  re- 
sponded. Thus  was  formed  the  com- 
pany of  the  twelve  Saracen  Peers.  Each 
strove  to  outbrag  all  the  others  in  re- 
hearsing their  future  exploits,  so  that,  to 
hear  them,  one  marvelled  much  they  did 
not  ride  forth  for  Roncevaux  alone.  But 
they  took  a  hundred  thousand  Saracens 
with  them,  leaving  three  times  as  many, 
to  rescue  or  support  them,  since  they  well 
knew  with  whom  they  had  to  deal  and 
did  not  expect  to  win  at  the  first  on- 
slaught. They  armed  themselves  most 
carefully  in  a  wood  of  ancient  firs,  and 
leaving  their  pack-horses  and  the  mules 
on  which  they  were  wont  to  travel  for 
greater  ease,  mounted  their  richly  capari- 
soned chargers  and  rode  on  in  orderly 
serried  ranks. 

The    noise   of    their   starting   and  the 
shrill  blasts  of  their  clarions  were  heard 


1 86  Roland 

by  the  French,  for  the  day  was  clear  and 
still,  and  every  sound  went  far. 

"  Sir  comrade,"  Oliver  said  to  his  friend, 
"  meseems  we  are  like  to  do  battle  soon 
with  the  Saracens." 

"  God  grant  it !  "  he  replied  ;  "  that  is 
what  we  are  here  for.  It  is  every  good 
vassal's  duty  to  suffer  any  hardship  for 
his  liege,  be  it  cold  or  heat,  to  give  and 
take  hard  knocks  in  his  service,  and  not 
spare  his  own  skin.  We  must  see  to  it 
that  our  names  be  not  shamed  in  song, 
and  I  for  one  will  not  give  a  bad  example." 


PART   SECOND 
ROLAND'S    DEATH 


I 

BEFORE   THE   BATTLE 

OLIVER    climbed    upon    a   hill   from 
which   he  could  see  far  down  the 
valley  on  the  Spanish  side,  and  beheld  the 
whole    Paynim    army  spread  out   below. 
He  called  Roland  to  his  side. 

"  I  knew,"  he  said,  "  that  noise  came 
from  the  Spanish  side.  See  how  all  those 
hauberks  gleam  !  How  the  helmets  flash  ! 
Our  Frenchmen  have  some  hard  work  be- 
fore them.  It  is  all  Ganelon's  doing,  the 
felon  !  It  was  he  who  talked  the  Em- 
peror into  putting  us  on  this  duty." 

"  Silence,  Oliver!"  Roland  rebuked  him. 
187 


1 88  Roland 

"  Remember,  he  is  my  mother's  lord — not 
a  word  against  him  ! " 

For  a  long  time  Oliver  stood,  viewing 
the  Saracen  host,  but  the  great  motley 
multitude  was  confusing  to  the  eye  ;  so 
he  made  his  way  down  to  his  friends  and 
told  them  what  he  had  seen. 

"  There  are  surely  a  hundred  thousand 
of  them,"  he  concluded  ;  "  we  shall  have 
a  battle  such  as  was  never  seen.  Stand 
fast,  and  God  give  you  strength  ! " 

They  answered  him  with  enthusiastic 
shouts. 

Said  thoughtful  Oliver : 

"  The  enemy  are  in  great  force,  and  we 
are  very  few.  Friend  Roland,  sound 
your  Olifant * :  Charles  will  hear  it  and 
return." 

"  Do  you  take  me  for  a  fool  ? "  Roland 
retorted  angrily.  "  I  should  be  the  laugh- 
ing-stock of  France.  No !  my  good 
sword,  my  Durendal,  will  strike  hard  ;  so 
will  all  our  men.  The  heathens  will  find 
they  were  ill-inspired  to  come  to  these  de- 

1  "Olifant" — Roland's    ivory  horn.         Ivory   was    called 
"  olifant  "  (from  "  elephant  "). 


Before  the  Battle  189 

files :  they  are  doomed,  every  one,  I  dare 
be  sworn." 

"  Friend  Roland,  sound  your  Olifant !" 
Oliver  repeated,  with  greater  insistence. 
"  Charles  will  hear  it  and  will  return  with 
the  main  army  to  our  aid." 

"  God  forbid,"  Roland  again  replied, 
"  that  I  should  bring  shame  upon  my  kin 
and  upon  my  country  !  No  !  my  Duren- 
dal  and  I  will  fight  it  out — you  will  see 
the  blade  up  to  its  golden  hilt  in  blood. 
The  Paynims,  I  repeat,  in  coming  here 
signed  their  own  death-warrant." 

"  Friend  Roland,  sound  your  Olifant," 
Oliver  entreated  for  the  third  time, — 
and  for  the  third  time,  and  more  angrily, 
Roland  refused,  on  the  plea  of  shame  to 
himself  and  dishonour  to  France. 

"  I  cannot  see  where  would  be  the  dis- 
honour," persisted  Oliver,  "  since  they  are 
so  many  and  we  so  few." 

But  Roland's  bravery  had  some  of  the 
quality  of  stubbornness  in  it,  and  nothing 
in  the  world  could  now  have  moved  him 
to  take  his  comrade's  wise  advice.  And 
while  they  were  thus  bandying  words,  the 


1 90  Roland 

Saracens  had  been  riding  on  fast  and 
furious. 

"  See,  Roland,  see  ! "  cried  Oliver ; 
"they  are  upon  us,  and  Charles  now  is 
very  far.  Ah  !  you  would  not  sound 
your  Olifant !  Had  you  done  so,  the 
King  would  soon  be  here  and  we  would 
not  be  in  so  much  danger.  Whatever 
betide,  they  will  not  be  to  blame.  Look 
at  our  ranks  here  in  the  pass  ;  many  are 
going  to  this  battle  who  will  never  see 
another." 

"  Speak  not  so  idly  !  "  Roland  broke  in, 
"  cursed  be  he  that  carries  a  faint  heart 
this  day !  We  will  hold  our  own  right 
valiantly.  Let  us  strike  the  first  blow, 
not  wait  to  be  attacked." 

With  the  approach  of  battle,  he  felt 
light  of  heart  and  fierce  as  any  lion  or 
leopard ;  he  turned  his  horse  and  ad- 
dressed his  friend  and  their  small  army  in 
a  short,  inspiring  speech  : 

"  I  pray  thee,  comrade,  speak  not  like 
that  again.  Here  we  are,  twenty  thou- 
sand of  us,  set  apart  by  Charles  himself, 
and  not  a  faint  heart  among  us,  as  he 


Before  the  Battle  191 

knows  well.  Make  good  use  of  thy  lance, 
friend  Oliver,  as  I  will  not  spare  Duren- 
dal,  my  good  sword  given  me  by  the 
King.  And  if  I  die,  whoever  has  it  after 
me  will  say  'This  was  a  noble  vassal's 
sword.' " 

Archbishop  Turpin  now  rode  up  the 
hill  and  took  a  look  at  the  enemy  ;  then, 
turning  to  the  French,  he  delivered  to 
them  the  following  sermon  : 

"  Lords  and  barons !  Charles  has  left 
us  here  :  he  is  our  king  and  we  should  be 
ever  ready  to  die  for  him.  Christendom 
is  in  peril — stand  by  it !  It  is  certain  that 
you  will  have  a  battle,  for  here  are  the 
Saracens  before  your  eyes.  Then  strike 
your  breasts,  confess  your  sins,  and  com- 
mend yourselves  unto  God's  mercy.  For 
the  good  of  your  souls  I  will  assoilzie 
you,  and  if  you  die,  you  will  all  be  mar- 
tyrs :  your  places  are  waiting  for  you  in 
God's  great  Paradise." 

At  the  words  all  the  knights  dismount 
and  humbly  kneel  upon  the  ground.  The 
Archbishop  extends  his  arm,  blesses  them 
in  the  name  of  God,  and  concludes : 


192  Roland 

"  And  be  your  penance  to  strike  Pay- 
nims ! " 

It  was  with  lightened  hearts  the  knights 
rose  from  their  knees,  freed  of  their  load 
of  sin,  at  peace  with  God  and  blest,  and 
again  mounted  their  fleet  chargers,  ready 
and  eager  for  battle.  Roland  called  Oli- 
ver to  him,  perhaps  regretting  his  burst 
of  temper. 

"  Comrade,"  he  said,  "  you  were  right 
in  saying  that  it  was  Ganelon  who  be- 
trayed us.  He  will  have  traded  us  for  a 
goodly  sum  in  gold  and  silver.  As  for 
Marsilius,  who  bought  us,  our  swords  shall 
clinch  the  bargain  he  struck  with  the 
traitor." 

As  Roland  rode  into  the  pass  on  his 
good  steed  Veillantif,  in  his  richest  armour, 
the  golden  fringe  from  his  white  pennon 
drooping  along  the  shaft  of  his  lance  down 
to  his  hand,  with  open,  smiling  counte- 
nance, he  looked  the  very  ideal  of  a  noble 
knight ;  the  French  looked  on  him  with 
loving  pride  and  greeted  him  with  the  cry 
"  Hail  to  our  champion  !  "  Oliver  rode 
but  a  step  behind.  Roland's  glance  was 


ARCHBISHOP  TURPIN   BLESSES  THE   FRENCH   ARMY  LEFT  AT   RONCEVAUX. 


Before  the  Battle  193 

dark  and  fierce  as  he  cast  it  on  the  Sara- 
cens, gentle  and  modest  as  his  eye  rested 
on  his  own  people,  and  he  halted  for  a 
courteous  word  : 

"  Lords  and  barons,  walk  your  horses ; 
save  yourselves  and  them.  These  hea- 
thens, in  sooth,  have  come  a  long  way  for 
what  they  will  get.  And  think  what  glori- 
ous booty  there  will  be  for  us  !  No  King 
of  France  ever  gathered  richer." 

But  Oliver  was  not  to  be  cheered  or 
distracted  from  his  gloomy  forebodings. 

"  I  don't  care  to  talk,"  he  said,  brusquely. 
"  You  would  not  sound  your  horn  ; 
Charles's  help  is  sorely  needed.  Certainly, 
whatever  befall  us,  he  will  not  be  to  blame, 
nor  those  who  are  with  him,  since  they 
know  not  a  word  of  this.  Now  all  that  is 
left  us  is  to  ride  hard,  and  strike  hard, 
and  die  hard.  For  God's  sake,  think  of 
only  these  two  things  :  to  give  and  to  take 
hard  blows.  And  let  us  not  forget 
Charles's  own  battle-cry." 

"  Mountjoy  !  Mountjoy  !  "  the  French 
shout  as  one  man,  and,  spurring  on 
their  steeds,  increase  their  pace,  and — 


194 


Roland 


for  what  else  could  they  do  ? — charge  the 
foe. 

Thus    French   and   Saracens   came    to 
blows. 


II 

THE    BATTLE 

MARSILIUS'S  young  nephew  rode  in 
front  of  the  Paynim  host,  to  show 
off  his  splendid  armour  and  his  brave  and 
handsome  steed,  at  the  same  time  hurling 
defiance  and  abuse  at  the  French,  and 
taunting  them  with  their  plight : 

"  Ye  foolish  French,  now  will  ye  be 
forced  to  fight.  They  who  should  have 
defended  you  have  betrayed  you.  Your 
Emperor  must  be  demented  to  leave  you 
here  in  this  narrow  pass.  Here  France 
shall  forfeit  her  glorious  name,  and 
Charles  lose  what  is  to  him  as  the  right 
arm  of  his  body.  There  will  at  last  be 
rest  for  Spain  ! " 

Roland  heard  the  words,  and,  frantic 
with  grief  and  anger,  charged  the  speaker 
195 


196  Roland 

with  such  fury  that,  at  one  stroke  of  his 
lance,  he  shattered  the  Saracen's  shield, 
pierced  through  his  mailed  hauberk  and 
through  the  bones  of  his  breast  till  it 
broke  the  backbone,  and  the  youth's  soul 
left  his  body  as  it  swayed  in  the  saddle 
and  dropped  on  the  ground,  the  first  dead 
of  that  great  day,  while  Roland  replied 
to  his  taunts  : 

"  Go!  thou  wretch,  thou  caitiff !  and 
know  that  Charles  never  loved  traitor  or 
treason.  He  left  us  here  because  such  are 
the  needs  of  war,  and  France  never  shall 
forfeit  her  glorious  name  through  us." 

Another  Paynim  chief  of  repute,  King 
Marsilius's  own  brother,  was  hard  by — a 
man  of  giant  stature  and  of  most  ferocious 
aspect.  Rage  seized  him  as  he  saw  his 
nephew  fall,  and  he  rushed  from  the  front 
rank,  shouting  insults  and  threats.  He 
was  met  by  Oliver,  whose  lance  transfixed 
him  with  such  violence  that  the  folds  of 
the  pennon  were  forced  into  the  wound. 

"  Reprobate  !  I  care  not  for  thy  threats," 
he  cried,  looking  down  on  the  vast  size  of 
the  man,  as  he  lay  lifeless  at  his  feet. 


The  Battle  197 

"  At  them,  ye  French  !  we  will  beat  them 
yet ! " 

And,  shouting  "  Mountjoy  !  "  Charles's 
own  battle-cry,  he  rushed  on  the  foe. 

Archbishop  Turpin  now  found  himself 
confronted  by  one  of  Marsilius's  vassal 
kings,  who  was  urging  on  his  men  : 

"  On  !  on  !  we  can  easily  hold  the  field 
alone — there  are  so  few  of  them  !  Not  one 
shall  escape  ;  Charles  is  powerless  to  help, 
and  nothing  can  stave  off  their  doom  ! " 

The  Archbishop  gave  his  horse  the 
spurs  and  was  upon  the  Saracen  before 
he  had  done  speaking :  at  that  moment  it 
seemed  to  him  there  was  not  a  man  under 
the  sun  whom  he  hated  as  he  hated  this 
foul-mouthed  heathen.  The  next  instant 
he  had  him  off  his  horse,  dead. 

"  Thou  didst  lie  in  thy  throat,  thou 
dastardly  pagan  !  Charles,  our  lord,  is  still 
our  hope  and  stay,  and  if  we  are  few, 
there  are  still  enough  of  us  to  keep  you 
busy  here  a  while.  At  them,  ye  French  ! 
We  had  the  first  stroke,  thank  God  ! " 

And  he  too  shouts  "  Mountjoy ! "  and 
gallops  across  the  narrow  field. 


1 98  Roland 

But  the  battle  does  not,  for  some  time 
yet,  become  general.  The  more  promin- 
ent warriors  on  each  side  pick  out  ad- 
versaries on  the  other,  and  the  engagement 
is  not  so  much  a  battle  as  a  number  of 
single  combats  fought  at  the  same  time 
at  different  points.  The  advantage,  so 
far,  is  decidedly  on  the  side  of  the  French, 
and  the  twelve  Peers,  with  even  more 
than  their  habitual  prowess,  have  each 
fought  and  killed  his  man — all  with  the 
lance  alone,  for  it  is  early  in  the  day,  and 
swords  are  not  drawn  until  the  lances 
give  out. 

The  first  sword  unsheathed  was  Ro- 
land's Durendal :  it  cut  a  Saracen  knight 
in  twain  down  to  his  horse  and  through 
the  saddle,  though  it  was  plated  with  gold, 
and  deep  down  into  the  horse's  back.  Af- 
ter this  Durendal  might  be  seen  flashing 
at  all  points  of  the  field  as  Roland  swung 
it  round  and  round,  flinging  bodies  on 
bodies  in  heaps,  his  horse  standing  and 
wading  in  running  blood,  himself  crimson 
from  head  to  foot.  The  twelve  Peers 
kept  closest  to  him — but  none  of  the 


The  Battle  199 

knights  was  remiss  ;  the  battle-cry  "  Mount- 
joy  !  Mountjoy  ! "  rang  lustily  on  every 
side,  the  Archbishop's  voice  loud  above 
the  rest.  Oliver  alone  still  plied  the 
lance,  until  it  snapped  in  his  fist. 

"  How  now,  comrade !  "  cried  Roland, 
"  what  would  you  with  a  stick  in  such  a 
battle  ?  Good  steel  is  needed  here. 
Where  is  your  sword,  with  the  hilt  of 
gold  and  the  pommel  of  pure  crystal  ?  " 

"  Faith  !  I  had  no  time  to  draw  it,"  he 
replied  ;  "  I  was  too  busy  striking." 

As  day  advances  the  battle  rages  more 
and  more  madly.  Oliver  and  Roland, 
the  Archbishop  and  the  Peers,  with  all 
their  prowess,  can  hardly  be  said  to  excel 
the  other  knights.  All  are  desperate  ;  all 
fight  as  those  who  know  that  never  again 
shall  they  see  mothers,  or  wives,  or  friends, 
or  any  of  them  that  wait  for  them  beyond 
the  passes. 

That  same  morning  of  the  great  battle 
in  the  fatal  pass  of  Roncevaux,  a  tremen- 
dous storm  swept  over  the  whole  of 
France, — a  storm  the  like  of  which  no  man 


200  Roland 

then  alive  had  ever  seen.  The  rain  and 
hail  that  fell  were  heavy  beyond  all  meas- 
ure, the  gale  and  thunder  were  terrific  be- 
yond words,  the  lightning  struck  oft  and 
hard,  and  the  earth  was  felt  to  quake. 
From  St.  Michael's  Mount  on  the  coast 
of  Normandy  to  Cologne  on  the  Rhine, 
there  were  few  houses  of  which  the  roofs 
or  walls  were  whole.  From  noon  to  the 
hour  of  vespers  dense  darkness  enwrapped 
the  world  as  at  the  dead  of  night,  and  no 
light  was  seen  but  that  of  the  lightnings 
cleaving  the  blackness.  Men  were  stunned 
with  fear  at  such  portents  and  many  said 
"  This  is  the  end  of  time  and  of  all  things." 
Alas,  no  :  it  was  only  nature  mourning  for 
Roland's  great  agony  and  inevitable  death, 
and  that  of  so  many  brave  men  with  him. 

For  the  battle  now  was  raging  horribly, 
most  deadly — the  second,  decisive  test. 

The  morning's  engagement  had  ended 
favourably  for  the  French.  The  Saracens 
had  fled,  panic-stricken,  in  disorder,  leav- 
ing the  field  strewed  with  broken  lances, 
tattered  pennons,  shining  hauberks  and 
corslets,  and  most  of  their  men  stretched 


The  Battle  201 

on  the  blood-soaked  grass.  But  even 
flight  could  not  save  the  survivors  :  the 
pursuit  was  so  hot  that  all  fell  as  they  fled, 
and  only  one — the  vassal  King  Margaris 
— escaped  alive,  though  with  four  gaping 
wounds,  broken  lance,  shattered  shield, 
mail  shirt  torn  and  bedraggled,  sword 
dulled,  hacked,  and  bloody.  In  this  plight, 
fainting,  fordone,  he  fell  to  the  ground  at 
Marsilius's  feet. 

"  To  horse  !  to  horse  ! "  he  gasped. 
"  You  will  find  the  French  tired  out  with 
killing  and  pursuing.  Half  of  them  are 
dead  ;  the  other  half  are  mostly  wounded, 
and  all  exhausted.  Their  arms,  too,  are 
mostly  broken  or  gone,  and  they  can  get 
no  others.  You  will  find  it  easy  work 
now  to  avenge  us — they  are  just  ripe  for 
slaughter." 

Soon  after  there  was  a  great  shout 
through  the  French  host : 

"  Help,  help,  ye  Peers!  Here  is  Mar- 
silius  himself  with  a  hundred  thousand 


more 


Roland,    Oliver,    and    almost     all     the 
knights  had  dismounted   to  take  breath 


202  Roland 

and  a  brief  respite.  The  Archbishop 
solemnly  addressed  them  : 

"  Men  of  God  !  be  brave  and  undaunted 
in  this  your  hour  of  glory !  This  is  the 
day  when  the  crown  will  be  placed  on 
your  brow  by  angel  hands,  and  Paradise 
will  open  wide  to  receive  you." 

There  was  a  moment  of  pity  and  grief 
uncontrollable  ;  the  knights  embraced  and 
wept  over  one  another  with  the  tender- 
ness of  great  friendship,  and  exchanged 
farewell  kisses.  But  Roland  cried,  "  To 
horse,  now,  to  horse  ! "  and  in  an  instant 
all  were  in  the  saddle. 

King  Marsilius  came  on,  keeping  the 
middle  of  the  valley,  with  his  forces  di- 
vided into  twenty  columns.  The  gold 
and  precious  stones  of  the  helmets  twinkled 
in  the  sun,  so  did  the  lances  with  their 
pennons,  the  burnished  shields,  and  shin- 
ing hauberks.  Seven  thousand  clarions 
sound  the  charge. 

"  Oliver,  my  comrade,  my  brother ! " 
cried  Roland,  "that  traitor  Ganelon  has 
sworn  our  death,  it  is  too  evident.  But 
our  Emperor  will  surely  take  direst  venge- 


The  Battle  203 

ance  on  him.  As  for  us,  nothing  is  left 
us  but  to  fight  and  bear  ourselves  so  that 
no  jeering  rhymes  are  made  in  France 
about  us." 

Archbishop  Turpin,  before  he  leads  the 
charge  with  Roland,  Oliver,  and  the  Peers, 
takes  time  for  a  last  exhortation  : 

"  Let  not  any  regretful  thought  now 
unman  you,  barons !  Nothing  can  be 
more  certain  than  that  this  day  we  die  : 
let  us  then  die  fighting,  nor  yield  one  foot 
of  ground.  Not  one  of  us  will  be  alive 
to-morrow.  But  one  thing  I  can  promise 
you  with  certainty  as  great :  it  is  that 
Paradise  will  open  wide  for  you.  To- 
morrow ye  shall  all  be  seated  with  the 
saints." 

These  words  inspire  the  French  with 
courage  more  than  human,  and  they  spur 
their  chargers  on,  to  the  one  general  cry, 
"  Mountjoy ! " 

Marsilius,  meanwhile,  was  also  address- 
ing his  men. 

"  Count  Roland,"  he  said,  "is  a  man  of 
passing  great  prowess ;  to  conquer  him 
will  be  no  easy  thing;  even  two  battles 


204  Roland 

may  not  suffice.  Well,  he  shall  have  a 
third.  But  this  day  shall  see  Charles 
shorn  of  half  his  boasted  greatness  and 
France  brought  to  shame." 

He  stationed  himself  on  the  brow  of  a 
rocky  height,  while  his  general,  carrying 
the  royal,  gold-embroidered  banner,  gal- 
loped at  full  speed  down  into  the  valley 
and  bore  down  upon  the  French,  from 
whose  ranks  burst  a  loud  curse  against 
the  traitor  who  had  sold  them.  But  the 
Archbishop  would  not  let  profane  feel- 
ings prevail  at  this  dread  hour,  and  re- 
called them  to  holier  thoughts  : 

"  Good  knights,"  he  cried,  "  this  is  the 
day  of  your  greatest  honour,  when  God 
himself  will  crown  you,  and  place  you 
in  Paradise  among  the  elect,  in  his  glory, 
where  ye  shall  rest  bedded  on  flowers 
of  Eden.  But  never  shall  coward  enter 
there." 

"We  will  acquit  ourselves  so  as  not  to 
shame  you,"  they  shouted  ;  "  we  will  die, 
but  will  not  fail  you,  nor  be  felons  to 
God  ! " 

And  now  the  battle  is  on  in  earnest. 


The  Battle  205 

Such  a  battle !  Death  rides  the  field 
from  end  to  end.  The  narrow  valley 
closes  both  armies  in,  giving  them  no 
room  to  spread  and  move  in,  so  that  the 
wounded  and  the  dead,  riders  and  steeds, 
fall  and  lie  in  heaps  many  high,  and  are 
trampled  again  and  again,  as  the  battle 
rages  close  by  them — nay  upon  them.  Not 
so  much  a  battle  as  blind  slaughtering. 
Forgotten  all  rules  of  chivalry,  all  customs 
of  war  ;  swords  pierce  and  cut  at  random  : 
heads,  and  arms,  and  legs  fly  right  and 
left ;  skulls  are  cleft  to  the  chin  and  neck, 
through  helmet,  visor,  and  nose-guard ; 
armour  is  cut  and  shattered ;  mail  broken 
and  torn.  The  fury  of  the  French  is  such 
that,  though  not  half  of  them  are  left, 
they  bid  fair  once  more  to  rout  the 
Saracens — the  third  Paynim  host.  Arch- 
bishop Turpin  seems  to  be  at  all  points 
at  once  ;  never  did  mass-chanting  priest 
perform  such  marvels  of  martial  prowess. 
Roland,  Oliver,  and  the  Peers  seem  to 
the  pagans  bloody  spirits  of  carnage,  not 
men.  Each  comrade  whom  they  see  fall 
seems  to  increase  tenfold,  not  their  fury 


206  Roland 

alone,  but  their  strength  and  valour.  But 
even  as  they  ply  the  deadly  work,  grief 
gnaws  at  their  hearts,  and  they  think 
with  anguish,  "  O  God,  how  our  friends 
fall ! "  And  still  they  pursue  the  Saracens, 
through  blood  that  reaches  to  their 
horses'  bellies.  Their  swords  of  fine 
steel  are  broken  or  blunted  ;  their  lances 
have  long  been  shattered ;  they  have  no 
weapons  left  ;  they  fight  with  the  stumps, 
they  break  heads  with  their  horns,  their 
clarions,  till  the  Paynims  loudly  curse  the 
day  they  came  to  the  fateful  pass  of 
Roncevaux. 

There  are  still  three  hundred  swords 
available,  and  they  work  to  such  good 
purpose  that  the  Saracens  fly  before  them, 
nor  ever  stop  till  they  reach  the  spot 
whence  Marsilius  watches  the  battle,  black 
fury  at  his  heart,  and  cry  to  him  for  aid. 
Among  those  swords,  the  best  in  the 
French  host,  there  is  none  that  compares 
with  Roland's  noble  Durendal,  unless  it  be 
Oliver's  sword.  For  an  instant  Roland 
pauses  and  watches  his  friend,  and  a  wave 
of  great  tenderness  sweeps  over  his  heart. 


STEEL  HELMET  WITH  NOSE-GUARD  (NASEL). 
(.Front  Seals,  Xllth  Century.) 


HAUBERKS,  WORN  OVER  TUNICS,  AND  PENNANTS. 
(From  Seals,  Xllth  Century.) 


The  Battle  207 

"Ah,  noble  Count,"  he  calls  to  him, 
"so  loyal  and  so  brave,  this  day  our 
friendship  must  end, — this  is  the  day  of 
our  most  sorrowful  parting.  Never  more 
shall  our  Emperor  see  either  of  us;  never 
shall  there  have  been  such  mourning  in 
the  sweet  land  of  France.  Not  a  French- 
man but  will  pray  for  us,  not  an  abbey  or 
monastery  but  there  will  be  masses  said 
for  our  souls,  which  will  then  already  be 
in  Paradise." 

Oliver  heard  his  comrade's  words,  and 
pushed  on  to  his  side,  forcing  his  way 
through  the  fighting  multitude. 

"  Let  us  keep  together ! "  they  said. 
"If  so  it  please  God,  we  will  not  die 
apart." 

From  this  moment  these  two  and  the 
Archbishop  managed  not  to  let  them- 
selves be  separated  by  any  accident  of 
the  battle.  The  number  of  those  they 
killed  is  recorded  in  charters  and  in  song 
— they  are  said  to  have  been  over  four 
thousand.  The  first  four  onslaughts  were 
favourable  to  the  French,  but  the  fifth 
was  fatal  :  all  the  knights  perished  then, 


208 


Roland 


save  only  sixty.  God  spared  no  more. 
But  these  sixty  were  to  sell  their  lives  at 
a  price  which  the  Paynims  were  very  loth 
to  pay. 


HI 

THE    OLIFANT 

ROLAND,  seeing  the  great  number  of 
their  slain  friends,  said  to  Oliver : 

"  Dear  comrade,  is  it  not  a  pitiful  sight 
— these  many  loyal  vassals  stretched  life- 
less on  the  ground  ?  Ah,  surely  we  may 
mourn  for  our  fair  France,  widowed  of  so 
many  doughty  barons.  Oh,  why  is  not 
our  friend  the  King  here  with  us,  to  aid 
and  save  us  !  Oliver,  my  brother,  what 
can  we  do  to  convey  to  him  the  evil 
tidings  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  see  no  way,"  quoth  Oliver. 
"  But  one  thing  I  know :  better  death 
than  dishonour." 

"  I  will  blow  my  horn,"  said  Roland, 
"  my  Olifant.  Charles  will  hear  it,  for  he 
209 


210  Roland 

has  only  just  passed  out  of  the  defile,  and 
he  will  return  in  haste,  I  will  be  sworn." 

"  That  were  great  shame,"  retorted 
Oliver ;  "  all  your  kin  would  blush  for 
you,  and  the  dishonour  would  cling  to 
them  through  life.  When  I  advised  it, 
you  would  not.  Had  you  taken  my  ad- 
vice then,  the  Emperor  would  be  here 
now,  and  we  should  not  be  in  such  sorry 
plight.  By  my  beard,  if  ever  I  see  again 
my  gentle  sister  Aude,  you  shall  never 
take  her  to  your  home  as  your  bride." 

"Why  will  you  be  so  wroth  with  me  ?" 
said  Roland  sadly. 

"  Because  this  is  your  doing  "  Oliver  re- 
plied. "  Courage  is  one  thing,  reckless 
rashness  is  another,  and  there  should  be 
measure  in  all  things.  It  is  through  your 
thoughtless  foolhardiness  so  many  French- 
men had  to  die,  and  we  ourselves  can 
never  more  serve  the  Emperor.  Had 
you  listened  to  me,  he  would  be  here ;  the 
battle  should  now  be  won  and  done,  Mar- 
silius  either  dead  or  captive.  Ah,  Roland, 
your  ill-timed  bravery  will  be  our  ruin ; 
your  death  will  not  save  France  from  dis- 


The  Olifant  211 

honour.  Alas  that  this  should  be  the  end 
of  our  most  loyal  friendship  !  For  long 
ere  night  we  shall  be  parted  most  cruelly." 

His  voice  broke,  and  they  wept  and 
sighed  most  piteously,  each  for  the  other. 

The  Archbishop,  hearing  Oliver's  chid- 
ing, hastened  to  their  side. 

"  Sir  Roland  and  you,  Sir  Oliver,  I  be- 
seech you,"  he  cried,  "  quarrel  not  at  such 
a  time.  For  see — we  are  doomed.  Your 
horn  cannot  save  us  ;  Charles  is  far  by 
this  time  and  would  come  too  late.  Still, 
my  advice  is  that  you  blow  it.  If  too  late 
to  save,  the  King  will  be  in  time  to  avenge 
us,  and  at  least  the  Paynims  will  not  re- 
turn homeward  triumphant.  Our  coun- 
trymen will  dismount  and  find  us,  even 
though  dead  and  hacked  to  pieces ;  they 
will  lay  our  mangled  remains  in  rough- 
hewn  biers,  which  their  own  steeds  shall 
bear  out  of  these  dreadful  mountains,  back 
to  our  own  sweet  land  of  France,  and 
there  we  shall  be  laid  to  rest  in  churches 
and  cloisters.  At  least  our  bodies  shall 
not  be  devoured  by  dogs,  wild  boars,  and 
wolves.  Sound,  then,  your  Olifant,  I  say." 


212  Roland 

"  And  you  say  well,"  replied  Roland. 

Forthwith,  setting  the  horn  to  his  lips, 
he  sounded  on  it  a  blast,  full  and  long, 
with  all  his  gathered  breath.  So  power- 
ful was  the  blast  that  Charles  heard  it, 
doubled  by  the  echo  beyond  the  moun- 
tains, some  thirty  leagues  away.  Nor 
Charles  alone ;  the  whole  army  heard, 
and  marvelled. 

"  Our  men  are  fighting,"  said  the  King. 
But  Ganelon  quickly  cut  him  short  : 

"  Did  anyone  but  you  say  such  a  thing, 
he  would  be  called  a  liar." 

Once  again,  with  anguish  and  great 
pain,  Roland  sounded  his  Olifant.  The 
crimson  blood  spurted  from  his  mouth  with 
the  strain.  But  the  blast  went  far  beyond 
the  pass,  where  the  French  army  was  rid- 
ing leisurely  along.  Charles  heard  it, 
and  Duke  Naimes,  and  all  stopped  to 
listen.  And  again  the  King  said  : 

"That  was  Roland's  horn.  He  never 
would  sound  it,  were  he  not  hard  pressed 
in  battle." 

"  There  is  no  battle,"  Ganelon  insisted 
peevishly.  "  You  are  old,  your  locks  are 


ROLAND'S  DEATH-BLAST  ON  THE   "  OLIFANT.' 


The  Olifant  213 

scant  and  white,  and  you  speak  the  words 
of  a  child.  You  know  full  well  Roland's 
exceeding  pride — Roland  the  strong,  the 
great,  the  marvellous  !  Truly,  it  is  a  won- 
der that  God  tolerates  him  so  long.  For 
a  hare  he  will  blow  his  horn  all  day. 
Surely,  he  is  having  some  fun  with  the 
Peers.  Besides,  who  would  dare  attack 
him  ?  Ride  on,  I  say.  Why  should  you 
halt  ?  The  country  before  us  is  vast,  and 
the  road  is  long." 

A  third  time  Roland  sounds  his  Oli- 
fant. His  mouth  is  all  bloody,  a  blood- 
vessel bursts  in  his  temple  with  the 
desperate  strain.  All  hear  it  this  time — 
there  is  no  room  for  doubt. 

"  That  horn  has  a  tremendous  force  ! " 
said  the  King. 

"  T  is  Roland  ! "  cried  Duke  Naimes  ; 
"  Roland  in  the  throes  of  death  !  On  my 
soul,  there  is  a  battle,  and  somebody  has 
betrayed  him — and  that  somebody  is  he 
who  is  dissembling  and  trying  to  keep 
you  here.  Arm  you,  Sir  King !  Call  out 
your  battle-cry  !  Haste  to  the  rescue,  for 
't  is  Roland's  plaint  you  hear." 


214  Roland 

At  the  Emperor's  word  of  command, 
all  the  horns  and  clarions  sound  at  once ; 
the  barons  arm  themselves  in  haste,  mount 
their  fleetest  chargers  and  spur  them  back 
through  the  gorges  they  have  just  passed  ; 
one  thought  is  in  everyone's  mind,  on 
everyone's  lips:  "  If  only  we  find  Roland 
alive ! " 

Too  late,  alas  !     Too  late ! 

From  the  moment  that  Charles  knew 
in  his  heart  that  treason  was  abroad,  he 
also  knew  with  absolute  certainty  who 
was  the  traitor.  He  ordered  Ganelon  to 
be  seized  and  bound,  and  gave  him  in 
charge  to  his  chief  cook. 

"  Guard  me  that  man  well,"  he  said  to 
him ;  "  he  is  the  traitor  who  has  sold  me 
and  my  house." 

The  cook  took  Ganelon  to  his  quarters 
and  set  a  hundred  of  his  fellows  at  him. 
They  belaboured  him  with  fists  and  sticks 
and  switches,  pulled  the  hairs  of  his  head 
and  beard,  and  at  last  chained  him  by  the 
neck  as  they  would  a  bear,  and  flung  him, 
like  a  bale  of  goods,  across  a  pack-horse's 
back.  And  so  they  kept  him  all  through 


The  Olifant  215 

that  mad  ride  and  after,  until  they  gave 
him  up  to  Charles  for  judgment. 

Ah  me,  what  a  ride  was  that !  Be- 
tween those  mountains,  so  high,  precipi- 
tous, so  darkly  frowning,  through  those 
deep  gorges,  with  the  headlong,  roaring 
torrents !  Charles  had  ordered  all  the 
horns  and  trumpets,  in  front  and  rear,  to 
sound  unceasingly,  to  answer  Roland's 
horn  and  give  notice  of  the  host's  ap- 
proach. Charles  rode  harder  than  many 
a  younger  man,  silent,  with  set  face,  his 
heart  swelling  with  grief  and  rage.  Be- 
hind him  rode  all  the  French,  silent  too 
with  suppressed  feeling  ;  tears  rained  un- 
checked down  many  a  deep-lined  cheek, 
and  here  and  there  a  sob  was  heard ; 
and  all  were  praying  in  their  hearts  as  they 
would  never  pray  again,  that  God  would 
but  keep  Roland  alive  until  they  came, 
and  they  would  wrest  him  from  the  very 
jaws  of  death.  On,  on  they  rode,  with 
not  a  minute's  halt,  not  an  instant's  slack- 
ening of  the  reins. 

Too  late,  alas  !     Too  late  ! 


IV 
OLIVER'S    DEATH 

O I  XT  Y  men!  To  that  handful  is  reduced 
&•  the  rear-guard  under  Roland's  com- 
mand. As  he  looks  at  them,  and  at  all 
the  dead  that  cover  the  ground  and  the 
slopes  wherever  they  were  not  too  steep 
to  fight,  he  feels  that  instant  death  were 
the  most  welcome  boon.  But  he  remem- 
bers that  among  these  sixty  are  several  of 
the  Peers  and  of  Charles's  bravest  and 
best-loved  knights,  and  knows  that,  if  he 
is  killed,  not  one  of  them  will  survive.  So 
far,  by  a  happy  chance  little  short  of  a 
miracle,  he  has  escaped  without  a  single 
wound.  Only  he  begins  to  feel  a  mortal 
weariness  steal  over  him,  and  at  times  his 
limbs  feel  numb.  He  weeps,  the  noble 
216 


Oliver's  Death  217 

knight,  as  he  looks  upon  so  many  com- 
rades slain. 

"  Barons,  my  brethren,"  he  says  in  gent- 
lest accents, . "  may  God  be  merciful  to 
your  souls !  May  he  grant  you  all  a  place 
in  Heaven,  and  give  you  rest  on  flowers 
of  Paradise  !  Better,  more  loyal  vassals, 
I  never  saw.  It  is  through  me  you  had  to 
die — I  see  it  now — and  I  was  powerless 
to  help,  to  save  !  God  help  you,  He 
who  never  failed  any  man !  Oliver,  my 
brother  Oliver,  stay  by  me.  If  I  am  not 
killed  here  by  the  enemy,  I  shall  die  of  a 
broken  heart.  Come,  comrade !  let  us 
back  to  our  work — kill !  kill !  and  no 
quarter ! " 

As  the  friends  rushed  back  into  the 
fray,  the  Archbishop  cheered  on  their 
sixty  followers  with  a  few  approving  and 
encouraging  words : 

"  This  is  as  it  should  be  !  This  is  how 
a  true  knight  should  bear  himself,  who 
has  good  arms  and  a  good  horse.  Else 
were  he  good  only  to  be  made  a  cloistered 
monk,  and  spend  his  life  praying  for  our 
sins." 


218  Roland 

When  a  man  knows  he  can  expect  no 
quarter,  he  is  unconquerable  in  battle. 
The  French,  therefore,  went  into  this  last 
fray  fierce  as  lions.  This  time  Marsilius 
himself  led  the  onslaught  and  showed 
himself  a  right  royal  champion ;  several 
of  the  Peers  fell  at  his  hand,  but  Roland 
was  upon  him  in  a  twinkling,  and,  bran- 
dishing Durendal,  struck  off  his  right 
hand  at  the  wrist.  The  panic  was  so 
great  among  the  Saracens  when  they  saw 
their  King  disabled  that,  as  he  turned 
bridle,  they  followed  at  full  speed  and 
never  looked  behind. 

But,  lack-a-day !  what  good,  at  this  late 
hour,  was  even  such  a  victory  ?  Marsilius 
fled,  it  is  true,  but  there  was  his  uncle,  the 
Caliph,  bringing  in  fresh  troops — the  ne- 
gro contingent  from  Ethiopia,  as  many  as 
fifty  thousand. 

When  Roland  saw  the  accursed  throng, 
blacker  than  ink,  with  nothing  white  about 
them  but  their  rows  of  teeth,  he  called  his 
knights  to  strike,  strike  as  long  as  their 
swords  held  out,  for  the  honour  of  France 
— "  For,"  said  he,  "  when  Charles  our  lord 


Oliver's  Death  219 

comes  to  this  field  of  death,  and  finds  fif- 
teen Saracens  lying  dead  by  each  one  of 
us,  he  cannot  but  bless  us  in  his  heart." 

Roland's  feeling  that  this  was  the  last, 
the  fatal  shock,  did  not  deceive  him,  for 
one  of  the  first  killed  by  the  blacks  was 
Oliver,  whom  their  leader,  the  Caliph  him- 
self, transfixed  through  the  body  with  his 
lance,  breaking  through  the  mail-work  of 
the  hauberk.  Yet  death  was  not  immedi- 
ate, and  Oliver  still  had  the  strength  to 
turn  on  his  slayer  and  cleave  his  head  to 
the  teeth  with  one  tremendous  blow  of 
his  sword — that  sword  which  had  no  match 
but  Durendal  alone. 

"  Go,  accursed  heathen  !  "  he  cried.  "  I 
will  not  say  that  Charles  has  not  lost 
much  ;  but  thou  certainly  shalt  not  boast, 
to  thy  wife  or  any  other  dame  in  the  land 
of  thy  birth,  of  any  damage  thou  mayest 
have  done  him,  in  slaying  either  me  or 
any  other  of  his  knights." 

Then  suddenly  his  strength  gave  way, 
and  with  a  last  effort  he  shouted,  "  Ro- 
land !  Roland  !  help  !  hither,  to  me  ! " 

When    Roland  looked  in    his    friend's 


220  Roland 

face,  and  saw  it  discoloured,  livid,  and  saw 
the  blood  streaming  down  his  body  to  the 
earth,  the  shock  was  too  great ;  and  with 
a  cry  of  despair,  he  nearly  lost  conscious- 
ness, sitting  on  his  horse. 

Oliver,  meanwhile,  had  lost  so  much 
blood  that  his  sight  became  blurred,  and 
he  could  not  have  known  any  man,  even 
at  his  very  side.  Thus,  unconsciously 
turning  his  horse,  he  stumbled  against  his 
friend  and,  knowing  him  not,  from  sheer 
instinct,  struck  at  his  golden  helmet  and 
cleft  it  down  to  the  nose-guard,  but,  by 
great  good  fortune,  the  sword  did  not  cut 
the  skull.  Roland  looked  at  him,  bewild- 
dered,  then,  seeing  how  it  was,  spoke  to 
him  sadly  and  lovingly  : 

"  Comrade  mine,  did  you  do  that  on 
purpose  ?  I  am  Roland,  who  loves  you 
as  his  soul.  You  did  not  challenge  me, 
that  I  know?" 

"  I  hear  you,"  replied  Oliver,  "  I  hear 
your  voice,  but  cannot  see  you.  God 
guard  you,  friend.  Was  it  you  I  struck  ? 
Forgive  me ! " 

"  You  did  not  hurt  me,"  said  Roland ; 


STATUES  OF  ROLAND  AND  OLIVER   IN  THE  PORTALS  OF  THE 

CATHEDRAL  AT  VtRONA,  IN  NORTHERN  ITALY 

(XllTH  CENTURY). 


Oliver's  Death  221 

"  I  forgive  you,  freely,  here  and  before 
God." 

They  bent  towards  each  other  and-most 
lovingly  embraced. 

Oliver  felt  the  anguish  of  coming  death, 
he  could  not  see  or  hear ;  so  softly  glided 
from  the  saddle  and  lay  him  down  on  the 
ground.  Loudly  he  spoke  his  "  Mea 
culpa  "  and,  folding  his  hands,  extended 
them  towards  heaven,  praying  God  to 
bless  Charles,  sweet  France,  and  his  com- 
rade Roland  above  all  men.  Then  his 
heart  stood  still,  his  head  fell  back,  and 
he  lay  stretched  on  the  ground,  at  rest. 

When  Roland  saw  that  all  was  over, 
that  his  heart's  friend  was  dead  beyond 
recall,  he  could  not  at  first  control  his 
grief,  but  broke  into  tears  and  sobs. 

"  My  comrade  !  my  brother  !  "  he  ex- 
claimed, "  that  thy  bravery  should  have 
brought  thee  to  this  !  So  many  years,  so 
many  days  have  we  lived  together,  and 
never  didst  thou  do  me  harm,  or  I  to  thee. 
Now  thou  art" dead,  it  is  pain  to  me  to 
live." 

Long  did  Roland  mourn  over  his  friend, 


222  Roland 

And  when  he  recovered  himself  and 
looked  around  him,  he  saw  that  all  the 
French  were  dead,  save  only  two :  the 
Archbishop  and  one  Count  Gautier,  who 
had  just  descended  from  a  mountain, 
which  he  had  held  against  the  Saracens 
till  all  his  companions  were  killed.  He 
was  faint  with  many  wounds  and  only 
wanted  to  die  by  the  side  of  friends.  Ro- 
land cut  in  strips  his  long  silken  tunic,  to 
bind  up  his  hurts  as  best  he  could,  and 
the  next  moment  already  the  Paynims 
were  upon  them  from  all  sides  at  once. 
But  when  they  saw  these  three,  shoulder 
to  shoulder,  at  bay,  ready  for  the  last  des- 
perate fight,  no  longer  for  life,  but  only 
honour,  they  dared  not  approach  them, 
but  hurled  at  them,  from  a  safe  distance, 
lances,  spears,  arrows,  javelins.  Gautier, 
already  exhausted,  fell  from  the  first ; 
next  the  Archbishop  was  hit  by  four 
lances,  and,  his  horse  being  killed  under 
him,  was  thrown  to  the  ground.  But  he 
was  instantly  on  his  feet  again,  and  ran 
towards  Roland,  shouting : 

"  I  am  not  conquered  yet      So  long  as 


Oliver's  Death  223 

a  brave  warrior  has  breath,  he  does  not 
give  up  the  fight." 

Charles  said  later  that  where  Turpin 
was  found,  four  hundred  Paynims  were 
lying  around  him,  some  wounded,  some 
cut  in  two,  and  some  headless. 

Roland,  though  still  unscathed,  was 
very  nearly  at  the  end  of  his  strength. 
His  body  burned  in  an  intolerable  fever, 
his  head  pained  him  almost  to  distraction, 
and  his  one  conscious  thought  was  now 
"  Is  Charles  coming  ?  "  He  took  his  horn 
and  drew  from  it  one  last  feeble  blast. 
But,  feeble  as  it  was,  the  Emperor,  who 
was  already  very  near,  heard  it  and  halted. 

"  Barons,"  he  said,  "  things  are  going 
ill.  My  nephew  Roland  is  lost  to  us. 
From  the  sound  of  his  horn  I  know  he  is 
in  mortal  straits.  If  you  would  be  in  time, 
press  on,  spur  your  steeds.  And  sound 
all  the  trumpets  we  have  in  the  host ! " 

Then  was  heard  the  blare  of  sixty  thou- 
sand trumpets,  so  loud  that  the  mountains 
caught  up  the  sound  and  the  valleys  rang 
with  it.  The  Paynims  heard,  and  never 
in  their  lives  were  they  less  inclined  to 


224  Roland 

laugh  !  "  It  is  Charles  ! "  they  said  each 
to  other,  and  "  Charles  is  coming  ! "  ran 
through  their  ranks  from  front  to  rear. 
"If  Roland  survives,  the  war  will  begin 
all  over  again,  and  Spain  is  lost  to  us  ! " 

Then  four  hundred  of  the  bravest  Sara- 
cen warriors  formed  a  flying  squadron  and 
rushed  to  where  Roland  held  his  ground 
doggedly  with  Turpin,  the  Archbishop. 
But  just  at  that  moment  the  trumpets 
sounded  again  nearer  and  nearer, — and 
the  Saracens  turned  bridle  and  galloped 
away,  but  halted  at  a  distance,  and  sent 
another  shower  of  lances,  arrows,  and 
javelins,  at  the  two  champions.  Still  Ro- 
land was  untouched,  but  his  charger,  his 
beloved  Veillantif,  fell  dead  under  him. 
Then  they  fled  on,  leaving  him  alone  with 
his  one  companion,  and  afoot. 

"  Roland," they  said,  "still  has  the  best 
of  us.  For  he  is  alive  and  the  Emperor 
is  coming — hear  his  clarions !  To  wait 
for  him  were  death.  So  many  noble 
kings  are  humbled  at  his  feet,  it  is  not 
Marsilius  who  ever  could  stand  against 
him." 


THE   ARCHBISHOP'S   LAST  BLESSING 

THE  two  friends  are  left  alone  at  last 
and  unmolested.  The  Paynims  have 
taken  the  road  to  Spain  and  do  not  look 
back  any  more.  Then  Roland  hastens  to 
where  the  Archbishop  lies,  fordone  and 
nearly  dead,  and  tends  him  with  gentle 
hand.  He  unlaces  his  golden  helmet, 
strips  off  his  light  mail-shirt,  tears  up  his 
tunic  into  strips  to  bind  up  the  broad 
gashes  on  his  body,  then  tenderly  takes 
him  in  his  arms  and  very  gently  lays  him 
on  a  green  grassy  spot.  Having  thus 
given  him  as  much  ease  as  is  possible  in 
their  forlorn  plight,  he  speaks  to  him  of 
something  which  sorely  oppresses  his 
heart : 

"  Noble  friend  !  give  me  leave  to  beg  of 

"5  225 


226  Roland 

you  a  boon.  Our  comrades,  they  whom 
we  so  loved,  are  all  dead,  but  we  should 
not  leave  them  thus  uncared  for.  I  will 
go  and  look  them  up  one  by  one ;  I  will 
bring  them  here,  and  lay  them  in  a  row 
before  you." 

"Go,"  said  the  Archbishop,  "and  re- 
turn promptly.  Thank  Heaven,  the  field 
is  ours  ! " 

Roland  went,  all  alone,  from  end  to  end 
of  the  battle-field  ;  he  searched  the  valley 
and  the  mountainside,  and  one  by  one  he 
found  his  comrades.  He  called  each  of 
them  by  name,  and  one  after  another  he 
carried  the  ten  Peers  to  where  Turpin  lay, 
— at  his  feet  he  laid  them  down  reverently, 
in  a  row.  The  Archbishop  could  not  but 
weep  at  the  piteous  sight,  and  raising  his 
hand,  gave  them  his  pastoral  blessing, 
saying  : 

"  Good  lords,  may  God,  who  brought 
you  here  to  die,  take  all  your  souls  and 
rest  them  in  Paradise  amid  holy  flowers. 
My  own  hour  is  come — I  will  not  see 
again  our  great  Emperor." 

But  Roland's  pious  task  was  not  yet 


The  Archbishop's  Last  Blessing  227 

done.  Once  more  he  returned  and 
searched  the  valley,  until,  under  a  pine,  he 
found  the  body  of  his  comrade  Oliver. 
Lovingly  he  raised  him  in  his  arms,  and 
holding  him  tightly  clasped  against  his 
breast,  he  made  his  way,  tottering  and 
stumbling  with  great  weariness,  back  to 
the  Archbishop.  There,  by  the  side  of 
the  other  Peers,  he  laid  him  on  a  shield, 
to  receive  the  prelate's  blessing  and  ab- 
solution. 

Long  did  Roland  stand  and  gaze  upon 
the  dead  Peers  and  his  dear  comrade, 
until,  overcome  with  tenderness,  he  burst 
into  tears  and  fell  senseless  by  the  side  of 
him  whom  he  had  loved  in  life  and  now 
loved  and  mourned  in  death.  The  Arch- 
bishop was  moved  with  such  exceeding 
grief  at  the  sight  that,  for  one  brief  mo- 
ment, he  forgot  his  own  deadly  hurts,  and 
seizing  on  the  Olifant,  dragged  himself 
painfully,  on  hands  and  feet,  towards  a 
little  spring  which  bubbled  from  a  rock 
near  by,  thinking  to  gather  in  the  horn  a 
little  of  the  icy-cold  water  to  revive  his 
friend.  He  almost  reached  it,  but  not 


228  Roland 

quite — his  last  strength  gave  way  from 
the  great  loss  of  blood  ;  he  fell  upon  his 
face,  in  death's  last  agony. 

Thus  Roland  found  him,  when  he  re- 
covered from  his  swoon  and,  looking  to 
the  right  and  to  the  left,  nor  seeing  him 
near,  went  in  search  of  him.  He  reached 
him  just  in  time  to  take  sad  leave  of  him 
and  lay  him  down  in  an  easier  posture. 
Turpin,  murmuring  contritely  "  Mea 
cnlpa  \ "  raised  his  eyes  and  his  folded 
hands  towards  heaven  and,  in  a  humble 
prayer  for  God's  mercy,  peacefully  ex- 
pired. Thus  ended  the  warlike  and  pious 
Archbishop  of  Rheims,  one  of  the  boldest 
champions  and  most  eloquent  preachers 
of  Christendom,  who  never  ceased,  while 
he  had  breath,  to  wage  war  against  the 
heathens  either  with  lance  and  sword  or 
with  most  persuasive  sermons. 

Nothing  ever  had  grieved  Roland  more, 
save  only  the  death  of  his  own  Oliver. 
While  his  tears  fell  fast,  he  composed  the 
prelate's  body  as  decorously  as  he  could 
on  this  rough  death-bed  ;  he  crossed  his 
hands,  so  fair  and  white,  upon  his  breast, 


The  Archbishop's  Last  Blessing  229 

and    sadly   spoke    a    brief    funeral    ora- 
tion : 

"  Go,  thou  knight  of  a  noble  race !  I 
commit  thee  into  the  keeping  of  the  Lord 
on  high.  For  no  man  ever  served  Him 
more  willingly.  Not  since  the  Apostles 
was  seen  such  zeal  to  convert  men  and 
uphold  Christendom.  May  thy  soul  be 
exempted  from  all  pain  and  trials,  and  find 
the  gate  of  Paradise  wide  open  ! " 


VI 

ROLAND'S    DEATH 

AND  now  behold  Roland  alone — the 
only  living  man  upon  that  field  of 
death  !  Would  Charles  arrive  in  time  to 
exchange  with  him  a  last  farewell  ?  For, 
though  unwounded,  he  knew  that  he  must 
die,  and  that  soon.  Human  endurance, 
of  body  or  of  mind,  could  no  further  go. 
He  longed  to  lay  him  down  and  rest. 
But  at  least  he  would  die  on  Spanish  soil, 
on  the  land  which,  but  for  him,  had  never 
been  subject  to  Charles.  So  he  com- 
mended himself  to  the  Archangel  Gabriel, 
took  his  Olifant  in  one  hand,  and  in  the 
other  Durendal,  his  sword,  for  from  these 
two  he  would  not  be  parted  even  in  death, 
and  slowly  walking  as  far  as  the  nearest 
Spanish  field,  ascended  a  low  hill,  or 
230 


Roland's  Death  231 

rather  knoll,  on  which  there  grew  some  tall 
trees,  and  which  rose  leaning  towards  the 
high  mountainside  in  four  terraces,  like 
steps  cut  in  the  rock.  There,  upon  a  green, 
grassy  spot  he  sank  down  exhausted. 

Now,  among  the  bodies  lying  all  around, 
there  was  a  living  Saracen,  who  only 
shammed  death,  the  more  surely  to  make 
his  escape  at  nightfall.  When  he  saw 
who  it  was  that  rested  on  that  knoll,  faint 
and  nearly  senseless,  he  rose  up  quickly 
and  hurried  to  the  spot,  in  the  hope  of 
earning  at  one  stroke  glory  enough  to  last 
him  his  life.  He  laid  violent  hands  on 
Roland,  shouting  :  "  Victory  !  he  is  down, 
Charles's  terrible  nephew,  and  I  will  have 
his  sword  to  show  at  home  !  "  With  this 
he  irreverently  pulled  Roland's  beard  and 
took  hold  of  the  sword's  hilt. 

But  as  he  pulled,  Roland  suddenly 
awoke.  Opening  his  eyes,  he  merely  said, 
"  I  do  not  know  thee  for  one  of  our  men," 
and  struck  the  bold  miscreant  such  a  blow 
upon  the  head  with  his  Olifant  as  broke 
through  the  steel  helmet  and  the  skull, 
and  stretched  him  dead  at  his  feet, 


232  Roland 

"  Cowardly  fool !  "  said  the  hero,  "  what 
made  thee  so  bold  to  lay  hands  on  Ro- 
land !  Now  my  Olifant  is  cleft,  the  gold 
and  gems  have  all  dropped  out  of  it." 

This  incident  aroused  Roland  to  the 
danger  that  his  sword,  his  precious  Duren- 
dal,  might,  when  he  was  dead,  fall  into 
the  hands  of  some  marauding  Saracen, 
who  not  only  would  bear  it  away  as  a 
cheaply  won  trophy,  but  might  even  use 
it  as  a  mute  witness  to  a  lying  boast  of 
having  fought  and  slain  its  heroic  owner. 
There  was  only  one  way  to  make  such 
desecration  absolutely  impossible,  and  that 
was — to  destroy  the  sword.  In  the  full 
certainty  that  their  joint  labours  were 
done  forever,  he  set  to  work  almost  cheer- 
fully to  accomplish  himself  what,  only  the 
day  before,  would  have  been  to  him  the 
greatest  of  heartaches  short  of  the  loss  of 
a  human  friend.  A  little  way  from  where 
he  rested  there  was  a  low  rock,  of  a  hard, 
dark  stone.  On  that  he  struck  Durendal 
with  all  his  might,  blow  after  blow — in 
vain !  The  steel  shrieked,  but  neither 
bent  nor  broke ;  the  edge  was  not  even 


ROLAND  TRYING  TO  BREAK  DURENDAL  AGAINST  A  ROCK;  AND 

ROLAND  BLOWING  THE  OLIFANT. 

(From  a  Stained-Glass  Window  in  the  Cathedral  at  Chartres,  France, 
Xlllth  Century.) 


Roland's  Death  233 

dented.  After  a  brief  rest  he  tried  again, 
and  then  again,  for  the  third  time  ;  but 
each  time  the  strokes  were  feebler,  for  his 
strength  was  ebbing  fast.  When  he  saw 
that  he  could  not  destroy  his  sword,  his 
heart  overflowed  with  pity,  and  he  spoke 
to  it  sadly  and  tenderly  : 

"  O  my  good  Durendal,  so  bright  and 
shining !  how  dost  thou  flash  and  sparkle 
in  the  sun  !  How  well  I  mind  the  day 
when  the  great  Emperor,  with  his  own 
royal  hand,  did  gird  thee  round  my  body  ! 
Since  that  day,  how  many  countries  have 
we  two  not  won  for  him,  thou  and  I  to- 
gether !  How  then  should  I  not  grieve 
at  parting  with  thee  now.  Better  die  than 
leave  thee  to  the  Paynims.  And  certes, 
while  I  live,  thou  shalt  not  be  taken  from 
me.  But  after  ? — Oh,  may  God  spare 
France  this  crowning  disgrace  !  Let  the 
holy  relics,  of  which  there  are  many  in 
thy  golden  pommel,  protect  thee,  my 
Durendal,  so  fair  and  holy,  from  their 
sacrilegious  hands  ! " 

Roland  feels  death  creeping  from  his 
head  to  his  heart,  He  lays  himself  down 


234  Roland 

under  a  pine,  with  his  Olifant  and  Duren- 
dal  under  him,  so  as  to  protect  them  with 
his  body  even  after  life  has  fled,  and  with 
his  face  turned  towards  Spain.  In  this 
mute  fashion  he  would  tell  Charles  that 
he  died  a  conqueror  still.  He  penitently 
strikes  his  breast,  and  makes  his  confes- 
sion to  God  : 

"  Mea  culpa!  My  God,  by  Thy  great 
might  and  mercy,  forgive  my  sins,  little 
and  great,  all  those  I  committed  from  the 
day  of  my  birth,  to  this,  the  day  of  my 
death!" 

God  hears  the  noble  knight,  and  sends 
His  angels  to  soothe  his  anguish  and  ease 
his  heart.  His  mind  wanders  and  brings 
him  memories  of  many  things :  his  early 
home, — his  own  kinsfolk  and  friends, — 
the  countries  he  has  conquered, — and 
Charlemagne,  his  lord,  who  has  nurtured 
him  so  tenderly,  and  loved  him  ever  as  a 
son.  But  he  strives  to  recall  his  straying 
thoughts  to  his  own  urgent  plight : 

"  O  God,  our  true  Father  ! "  he  prayed, 
"God,  Who  never  didst  lie,  Who  didst  raise 
Lazarus  from  the  dead,  and  protect  Daniel 


THE  ARCHANGEL  GABRIEL  BLESSES  THE  DYING  ROLAND. 
(From  a,  German  MS.,  XUtk  Century.) 


Roland's  Death  235 

against  the  lions, — save,  Oh,  save  my  soul 
and  shield  it  against  all  perils,  and  forgive 
all  the  sins  I  ever  committed  ! " 

As  he  prays,  he  raises  his  hand  to 
heaven,  offering  to  God  the  glove  from 
his  right  hand.  Gabriel  receives  it ;  then 
he  folds  his  hands,  his  head  sinks  gently 
on  his  shoulder.  Angels  and  cherubs 
hover  around  him,  and  archangels  — 
Raphael,  and  Michael,  and  Gabriel — bear 
his  soul  straight  to  Paradise. 


PART   THIRD 

RETRIBUTION 


I 


FIRST  REPRISAL— CHARLEMAGNE'S 
DREAMS 

ROLAND    is   dead,  and  God  has   his 
soul. 

The  Emperor,  meanwhile,  reached  Ron- 
cevaux  and  rode  into  the  pass.  Not  a 
road,  or  even  path,  not  an  empty  space, 
not  an  ell  or  foot  of  ground,  but  there 
lay  bodies  of  either  French  or  Pay- 
nims. 

"  Where  art  thou,"  Charles  exclaimed, 
"  my  well-beloved    nephew  ?       Where    is 
the    Archbishop  ?    where   are  my  twelve 
Peers,  whom  I  have  left  behind  ?  " 
236 


RLES  VIEWS  THE  DEAD  AT  RONCEVAUX  SEEKING  FOR  HIS  NEPHEW 
ROLAND.  (IN  THE  FOREGROUND,  ARCHBISHOP  TURPIN  AND  THE 
DEAD  PEERS.) 


First  Reprisal  237 

But  alas,  what  boots  it  to  question 
where  there  are  none  to  give  reply  ? 

There  was  great  mourning  that  day  in 
those  gloomy  defiles  ;  wailing  and  weep- 
ing were  heard  everywhere,  as  men  missed 
their  sons,  their  brothers,  their  friends,  or 
liege  lords.  Many  dismounted  and  fell  to 
the  ground,  overcome  with  grief.  Old 
Duke  Naimes  was  the  first  to  rally  from 
the  shock,  the  first  who  ventured  to  speak 
to  Charles. 

"Look!"  he  said;  "do  you  see  that 
cloud  of  dust  yonder,  a  few  miles  ahead 
of  us?  That  is  the  Pagan  host — there 
are  still  enough  left  of  them.  Ride  on, 
fall  on  them  from  the  rear,  and  avenge 
our  dire  disgrace." 

The  King  partly  roused  himself  at  this, 
though  he  was  half  stunned  with  horror. 
He  called  to  him  four  of  his  most  trusty 
barons  : 

"  Do  you  guard  these  valleys  and  these 
mountains.  Leave  the  dead  as  they  are  ; 
only  watch  that  no  beasts  of  prey  come 
near  them,  knights  and  squires  and  serv- 
ing men  alike.  I  forbid  you  to  let  any 


238  Roland 

man  move  or  touch  them  until,  by  the 
grace  of  God,  we  return  to  you." 

And  he  left  a  thousand  knights  with 
the  four  barons. 

Then  he  ordered  the  trumpets  sounded, 
and  started  in  pursuit  with  all  his  army. 
But  very  soon  the  night  began  to  fall,  and 
riding,  in  those  dark  and  narrow  moun- 
tain gorges,  became  almost  impossible. 
The  Emperor  dismounted,  and  kneeling 
on  the  grass,  besought  the  Lord  our  God 
that  He  might  stay  the  sun,  keep  back  the 
night,  and  grant  some  more  hours  of  light, 
When  lo !  the  angel  who  was  wont  se- 
cretly to  hold  commune  with  the  great 
monarch,  stood  by  him  invisible,  and 
quickly  whispered  to  him  Heaven's  com- 
mand : 

"  Ride  on,  Charles  !  Daylight  shall  not 
fail  thee.  Thou  hast  this  day  lost  the 
flower  of  French  chivalry  ;  God  knows  it, 
and  bids  thee  go  and  take  thy  vengeance 
on  the  miscreant  brood." 

And  God  worked  a  great  miracle  for 
the.  King  He  loved  :  the  sun  stood  ar- 
rested in  its  course,  so  the  French  could 


First  Reprisal  239 

continue  the  pursuit  and  drive  the  Sara- 
cens before  them  towards  Saragossa,  mak- 
ing great  slaughter  of  them,  till  they 
backed  them  against  the  river  Ebro,  where 
the  current  was  deep  and  terribly  swift. 
Not  a  boat,  not  a  barge,  not  a  ferry  in 
sight !  Yet  there  was  nothing  for  them 
but  to  rush  into  the  flood  and  try  to  swim 
across — a  venture  most  desperate  !  The 
knights  being  most  heavily  armed,  many 
of  them  sank  at  once  and  never  came  up. 
Of  the  others  some  floated  and  some 
drank  deep  before  they  reached  the  oppo- 
site bank ;  but  the  greater  part  were 
cruelly  drowned. 

When  Charles  saw  that  the  victory  was 
complete,  he  knelt  again  and  gave  thanks 
to  God.  When  he  arose,  the  sun  had  set. 
It  was  too  late  to  return  to  Roncevaux ; 
so  the  command  was  given  to  encamp,  to 
free  the  tired  horses  from  their  harnesses, 
to  take  off  their  saddles  and  bits,  and  turn 
them  loose  to  rest  and  graze  in  the  luxuri- 
ant river-meadows.  All  slept  wherever 
they  dropped  down,  overcome  with  fatigue. 
Not  even  a  watch  was  set  that  night. 


240  Roland 

The  Emperor  himself  had  a  couch 
spread  for  him  in  a  meadow,  on  the  grass. 
But  he  would  not  disarm  that  night.  He 
planted  his  lance  in  the  ground  by  his 
head  ;  he  lay  down  in  his  shining  mail- 
shirt  and  his  golden,  gem-studded  helmet ; 
he  did  not  even  loosen  from  his  belt  his 
sword  Joyeuse, — that  sword  which  never 
had  its  match,  and  gleamed,  resplendent, 
with  thirty  different  colours  each  day.  In 
its  golden  pommel  Charles  had  set  the 
point  of  the  holy  lance  with  which  the 
soldier  pierced  the  side  of  Our  Lord  on 
the  cross,  and  which,  by  a  wondrous  fa- 
vour of  Heaven,  had  come  into  his  pos- 
session. Because  of  this  high  honour  and 
of  the  steel's  goodness,  he  called  the 
sword,  "  Joyeuse,"  and  from  this  name  was 
formed  his  own  royal  battle-cry  "  Mount- 
joy  ! "  which  French  barons  have  shouted 
on  many  a  field  long  after  he  was  dead. 

Through  all  this  still,  moonlit  night 
Charles,  though  mortally  tired  with  the 
exertions  and  emotions  of  that  fateful 
day,  could  find  no  sleep.  If  he  closed  his 
eyes,  he  saw  before  him  that  dreadful  pass 


First  Reprisal  241 

heaped  full  with  the  bodies  of  his  friends  ; 
he  called  on  Oliver,  on  his  Peers,  and 
there,  tossing  upon  his  unrestful  couch,  he 
prayed  with  tears  and  sobs  that  God 
might  have  mercy  on  all  those  faithful 
souls.  No  one  kept  the  sorrowful  vigil 
with  the  King ;  wherever  he  looked  he 
saw  sleeping  men  ;  the  very  horses  were 
too  weary  to  stand  ;  if  any  wanted  the 
tempting  grass,  they  just  stretched  their 
necks  and  nibbled  as  they  lay.  At  last, 
towards  dawn,  Charles  fell  into  the  sleep 
of  utter  exhaustion,  and  the  Archangel 
Gabriel,  sent  by  God,  kept  watch  over 
him  and  .  brought  him  warnings  and 
advice  in  dreams,  as  so  many  times 
before. 

The  Angel  first  showed  him  the  vision 
of  a  great  battle,  then  pointed  heaven- 
ward. Glancing  up,  Charles  beheld  among 
the  clouds  lightnings,  thunderbolts,  hail 
and  showers,  terrific  storms  and  confla- 
grations, and  the  next  instant  it  seemed 
as  though  it  all  came  down  upon  his  army. 
The  shields  and  lance-shafts  caught  fire, 
the  hauberks  and  helmets  began  to  melt 

16 


242  Roland 

and  drop  off  the  men.  And  now  a  band 
of  bears  and  leopards  rushes  upon  them, 
and  with  them  serpents,  dragons,  flying 
and  crawling  monsters,  and  thousands  of 
griffins.  .  All  cry  to  the  King  for  help  ; 
he  fain  would  fly  to  the  rescue,  but  an 
immense  lion  springs  out  of  a  forest  and 
stands  right  across  his  path,  fierce  and 
aggressive.  The  beast  attacks  the  King — 
they  wrestle — which  will  prevail  ?  Charles 
never  knew,  for  the  vision  somehow  van- 
ished. Yet  the  King  did  not  awake. 

And  now  another  vision.  He  is  at 
home,  in  his  city  of  Aix.  He  stands  on 
the  porch  of  his  palace,  holding  a  bear  by 
a  double  chain.  Suddenly  thirty  bears 
come  out  of  the  forest.  They  speak  like 
men.  "  Give  him  back  to  us  ! "  they  en- 
treat. "  He  is  of  our  kin  and  we  are 
bound  to  help  him.  It  is  not  right  to 
keep  him  captive  so  long."  But  just  then 
a  fine  deer-hound  comes  running  and 
bounding  from  the  palace  and  attacks  the 
largest  of  the  bears.  And  Charles,  with 
bated  breath  looks  on  at  the  stupendous 
combat.  Which  will  be  victor  ?  Again 


First  Reprisal 


243 


he  does  not   know,  for   this  vision,  too, 
vanishes  like  the  first. 

These  things  did  the  Angel  show  the 
King.     And  now  he  slept  till  morning. 


II 


SCENES    AT   SARAGOSSA 

KING  MARSILIUS,  meanwhile,  fly- 
ing for  his  life,  reached  Saragossa. 
There,  dismounting  under  an  olive  tree, 
he  let  his  servitors  disarm  him — take  from 
him  his  sword,  his  helmet,  and  hauberk ; 
then,  silently  and  most  piteously,  stretched 
himself  on  the  grass.  The  pain  and  loss 
of  blood  from  his  severed  wrist  were  so 
great,  there  having  been  neither  time  nor 
means  to  dress  the  wound  properly,  that 
he  fainted  away.  His  Queen,  Brami- 
monda  and  her  women  surrounded  him 
with  tears  and  cries,  but  neither  they  nor 
any  of  the  twenty  thousand  men  with  him 
seemed  able  to  collect  their  wits  suffi- 
ciently to  lend  him  efficient  aid.  All  they 
could  do  was  to  wail  and  moan,  to  curse 
244 


Scenes  at  Saragossa          245 

Charles  and  France,  and  lastly  to  abuse 
their  god  Apollo,  whose  statue  was  in  a 
grotto  near  by.  Thither  they  rushed, 
tore  from  the  statue  sceptre  and  crown, 
threw  it  down  on  the  ground,  kicked  and 
trampled  it  under  foot,  beat  it  with  sticks 
and  broke  it  to  pieces,  scolding  and  revil- 
ing it  the  while  :  "  Thou  wicked  god  ! 
Why  didst  thou  shame  us  so  ?  Why 
didst  thou  leave  our  King  to  suffer  ?  Is 
it  even  so  thou  dost  requite  them  that 
have  always  served  thee  well  ? "  The 
effigy  of  Mahomet  was  cast  into  a  ditch 
for  dogs  and  hogs  to  trample  and  worry. 
Never  were  gods  treated  with  such  indig- 
nity. When  Marsilius  awoke  from  his 
swoon,  he  had  himself  carried  to  his  own 
chamber,  whither  Queen  Bramimonda  fol- 
lowed him,  still  weeping  and  tearing  her 
hair,  and  calling  down  all  manner  of  evils 
on  Charles  and  the  French. 

"  Our  only  hope  now,"  she  said,  "  is  the 
Emir." 

This  Emir  was  Baligant,  the  Sovereign 
of  Babylon,  an  old  man  of  high  repute  in 
heathendom.  Marsilius  had,  some  time 


246  Roland 

before,  sent  to  him  for  help,  threatening, 
if  he  failed  him,  to  forswear  his  pagan 
gods,  to  receive  the  Christian  law,  and 
make  his  peace  with  Charlemagne.  But 
Babylon  is  far,  and  the  Emir  had  not  been 
heard  from  yet.  He  had,  however,  gone 
to  work  at  once  collecting  ships  and  men, 
and  on  the  first  of  May  his  fleet  had  set 
sail  from  the  port  of  Alexandria  in  Egypt. 
It  was  a  beautiful  sight,  especially  of  a 
dark  night,  when  the  sea  was  illumined 
with  the  lights  burning  at  every  mast-head, 
at  the  end  of  every  yard-arm.  It  was 
thus  the  fleet  arrived  in  sight  of  the  Span- 
ish coast ;  the  radiancy  stretched  over 
miles  of  shore  and  carried  the  happy  news 
to  the  discouraged  towns  and  villages, 
from  whence  it  swiftly  spread  inland  and 
soon  reached  Marsilius, — yet  hardly  sooner 
than  the  fleet  itself,  which  entered  into  the 
mouths  of  the  river  Ebro,  and  made  with 
all  speed  for  Saragossa,  amazing  the  coun- 
try with  the  prodigious  brilliancy  of  its 
thousands  of  lights,  which,  along  both 
banks  of  the  river,  turned  the  night  into 
day. 


Scenes  at  Saragossa          247 

A  short  distance  from  Saragossa  the 
Emir  ordered  the  fleet  to  halt  and  went 
on  shore,  accompanied  by  all  the  chiefs  of 
the  army  and  a  gorgeous  retinue  of  noble 
warriors.  In  the  middle  of  a  plain,  under 
a  laurel  tree,  a  large  rug  was  spread,  an 
ivory  armchair  was  placed  on  that,  and 
Baligant  took  his  seat,  while  all  the  others 
remained. standing.  He  began  to  speak 
in  the  most  overbearing  way  of  how  he 
would  make  short  work  of  Charles  and 
all  Christendom,  how  he  would  follow 
him  even  to  the  city  of  Aix — "  and,"  he 
concluded,  "  if  he  does  not  prostrate  him- 
self at  my  feet  and  sue  for  mercy,  and 
deny  the  Christian  faith,  I  shall  tear  the 
crown  from  his  head.  I  vow  I  shall  not 
cease  from  this  emprise  until  I  see  him 
either  dead,  or  a  suppliant." 

With  this  comforting  message  he  dis- 
patched two  of  his  nobles  to  King  Mar- 
silius.  They  quickly  covered  the  short 
distance  to  the  city,  and  after  passing  ten 
gates  and  four  bridges,  rode  along  the 
streets,  through  gaping  crowds,  straight 
for  the  royal  palace  on  the  hill,  Thq 


248  Roland 

nearer  they  came  to  that,  the  louder  grew 
the  uproar,  and  they  gradually  began  to 
make  out  the  plaints  and  threats  in  which 
the  angry  multitude  gave  vent  to  their 
excited  feelings, 

The  messengers  left  their  horses  in  the 
shade  of  an  olive  tree,  where  two  Saracens 
took  charge  of  them,  and  were  shown  to 
the  royal  chamber  at  the  top  of  the  palace. 
As  they  entered  the  King's  presence,  they 
uttered  the  customary  greeting  :  "  May 
Apollo  and  Mahomet,  our  lord,  save  the 
King  and  guard  the  Queen  ! "  and  were 
greatly  amazed  when,  instead  of  the  usual 
courteous  response,  and,  indeed,  against 
every  law  of  Oriental  etiquette,  the  Queen, 
without  giving  her  lord  a  chance  to  speak, 
broke  out  into  the  most  furious  invectives : 

"  What  nonsense  are  you  talking?  Do 
you  not  know  that  those  worthless  gods 
of  ours  are  dastardly  felons,  who  left  all 
our  knights  to  perish  at  Roncevaux,  and 
did  not  even  protect  the  King,  my  lord  ! 
Roland,  the  mighty  champion,  met  him  in 
battle  and  cut  off  his  right  hand.  Ah, 
miserable  me !  unhappy  woman  that  I 


Scenes  at  Saragossa          249 

am  !  what  will  become  of  me,  when  Charles 
is  in  possession  of  all  Spain  ?  Is  there 
no  one  who  in  pity  will  take  my  life  ?  " 

"  Lady,"  said  the  messengers,  "  moder- 
ate your  words.  We  are  the  envoys  of 
the  Emir  Baligant,  who  has  come  with  an 
immense  army  to  be  your  deliverer :  see 
the  token — glove  and  wand — which  he 
sends  Marsilius.  Down  there  on  the 
river  we  have  four  thousand  vessels — 
transports,  light  skiffs  and  swift  galleys. 
The  Emir  is  wealthy  and  powerful.  He 
will — so  he  swears — pursue  Charles  and 
attack  him  in  his  own  land,  and  never  rest 
till  he  sees  him  either  dead  or  a  suppliant." 

"  Do  not  deceive  yourselves,"  she  re- 
plied, despondently ;  "  things  will  not  go 
so  smoothly.  You  will  not  have  to  go  so 
far  to  encounter  the  French.  These  seven 
years  they  have  been  here,  right  in  our 
land.  And  as  for  their  Emperor — all  the 
kings  of  the  earth  are  to  him  as  infants, 
and  he  fears  no  living  man." 

"Enough!"  here  broke  in  Marsilius, 
bethinking  himself  at  last  that  he  was 
playing  no  dignified  part,  and  addressing 


250  Roland 

the  envoys  :  "  Lords,  it  is  to  me  you  must 
speak.  You  see  yourselves  in  what  mor- 
tal straits  I  am.  I  have  no  son,  no  heir. 
Yesterday  I  had  one — they  killed  him. 
Tell  the  Emir  to  come  to  me,  for  I  cannot 
go  to  him.  He  has  the  next  claim  to  the 
land  of  Spain.  If  he  so  wishes,  I  will 
give  it  up  to  him  at  once, — only  let  him 
defend  it  against  the  French.  I  shall  be 
able  to  give  him  some  useful  hints,  which 
may  help  him  to  victory.  In  the  mean- 
time take  to  him  the  keys  of  Saragossa 
and  tell  him  from  me  he  need  not  leave 
this  neighbourhood." 

"  You  speak  well,"  said  the  envoys,  and, 
after  receiving  the  keys,  and  respectfully 
saluting  the  King,  they  took  horse  at  once 
and,  riding  hard,  in  great  trepidation,  re- 
turned to  the  Emir,  to  whom  they  faith- 
fully recounted  all  they  had  seen  and  the 
portentous  things  they  had  heard.  He 
listened  in  silence,  and  for  some  time  sat 
as  one  stunned,  till  they  reminded  him 
that,  if  the  losses  of  their  allies  had  been 
great,  neither  had  the  French  come  off 
cheaply, 


Scenes  at  Saragossa          251 

"  Remember,"  they  said,  "  Roland  was 
killed,  and  so  was  Oliver.  Dead  are  the 
twelve  Peers  whom  Charles  loved  so 
dearly,  and  twenty  thousand  French  be- 
sides. Now,  Charles  and  his  army  are 
encamped  here  by  the  river,  close  to  us, 
and  you  can  make  retreat  very  hard  for 
them." 

The  old  Paynim's  eyes  gleamed  fiercely 
at  these  words  ;  he  sprang  from  his  chair, 
and  gave  his  orders,  quick  and  brief : 

"  Lose  not  an  instant  more  !  Land  all 
the  troops  ;  then — to  horse,  and  forward  ! 
on  !  Unless  old  Charlemagne  escapes  us 
by  flight,  Marsilius  shall  be  avenged  this 
very  day.  For  the  hand  he  has  lost,  I 
will  give  him  the  Emperor's  head." 

The  Emir  superintended  both  the  land- 
ing and  the  mustering  of  the  troops,  and 
as  soon  as  he  had  seen  them  ready  to 
start  and  committed  the  command  of  them 
to  his  most  trusty  captain,  he  rode,  with 
only  four  companions,  to  the  city  and  the 
palace.  At  the  top  of  the  stairs  he  was 
met  by  Bramimonda,  who  rushed  out  of 
the  royal  chamber  and  fell  at  his  feet  in 


252  Roland 

most  pitiable  plight.  He  raised  her  kindly, 
and  both  together  entered  the  chamber. 

Marsilius,  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  Emir 
enter,  called  two  Saracens  to  him,  to  raise 
him  in  their  arms.  Then,  taking  one  of 
his  gloves  in  his  left  hand,  he  held  it  out 
to  the  noble  visitor,  saying  : 

"  My  lord  Emir,  I  here  deliver  into 
your  hand  my  entire  kingdom.  As  for 
me,  I  am  a  wreck,  and  I  have  lost  my 
people." 

"  Believe  me,"  replied  the  Emir,  "  I 
sorrow  for  you  deeply.  But  I  may  not 
tarry  to  talk,  for  Charles  will  not  wait  for 
me." 

With  a  brief  farewell,  and  tears  in  his 
eyes  at  so  much  misery,  Baligant  left  the 
room,  quickly  descended  the  marble  stairs, 
mounted  his  horse,  and  was  soon  in  the 
front  of  his  army,  whom  he  cheered  on 
with  the  frequent  exclamation  : 

"  On  !  on  !  Let  not  the  French  escape  ! " 


Ill 

THE    OBSEQUIES 

WHEN  Charles  the  Emperor  awoke 
that  morning,  soon  after  daybreak, 
the  Archangel  Gabriel,  whom  God  had 
deputed  to  watch  over  him  in  his  slumber, 
raised  his  hand  and  made  over  him  the 
sacred  sign  in  blessing,  ere  he  returned 
to  the  spheres  of  eternal  light.  With  the 
Emperor  arose  his  knights,  refreshed  and 
rested,  and  all  rode  back  to  Roncevaux, 
to  examine  the  doleful  place  of  the  great 
massacre.  When  Charles  came  upon  the 
first  dead,  his  tears  began  to  flow,  and 
turning  to  them  that  rode  nearest  to  him 
he  said  : 

"  Dear  knights,  walk  your  horses  awhile. 
I  must  ride  on  alone,  for  I  would  fain  find 
my  nephew  Roland  myself.  One  day  at 
Aix,  at  an  annual  festival,  I  remember  my 

^  853 


254  Roland 

valiant  bachelors  were  boasting  of  their 
feats,  the  hard  fights  in  which  they  had 
been,  and  Roland  (I  heard  him)  said  that 
if  it  ever  were  his  fate  to  die  in  a  foreign 
country,  his  body  should  be  found  in  ad- 
vance of  his  peers  and  of  his  men,  with 
the  face  turned  towards  the  enemy's  land, 
for  even  in  death  he  still  would  be  a 
conqueror." 

So  saying,  Charles  rode  on,  a  stone's 
throw  ahead  of  his  companions,  up  a  hill. 

And  as  he  rode  slowly,  looking  every 
way,  he  noticed  that  the  hillside  was  cov- 
ered with  herbs  and  flowers,  all  dyed  in 
his  barons'  red  heart-blood.  Deeply 
moved  at  the  sight,  he  halted  on  the  top 
of  the  hill,  under  the  two  trees.  He  first 
discovered  the  rock,  on  which  he  knew 
the  trace  left  by  the  blows  which  Roland 
had  struck  with  Durendal,  and  there, 
close  by,  he  came  upon  Roland  himself, 
stretched  out  on  the  green  grass.  The 
next  minute  he  was  off  his  horse,  and  tak- 
ing the  beloved  body  in  his  arms,  held  it  to 
his  breast  an  instant,  then  fell  with  it  in  a 
dead  swoon, 


The  Obsequies  255 

When  he  returned  to  consciousness, 
Duke  Naimes  and  three  other  barons  had 
raised,  and  were  supporting  him.  He 
gazed  down  upon  the  countenance  so  dear 
to  him,  marvelling  much,  for  though  Ro- 
land's cheek  and  brow  and  lips  had  lost 
their  ruddy  colour,  he  still  had  a  look  so 
fair  and  serene,  almost  as  of  life  ;  and  the 
King  began  to  speak  to  him  so  feelingly 
that  all  who  heard  him  wept  with  excess 
of  grief : 

"  Friend  Roland,  may  God  receive  thy 
soul  and  rest  it  amid  holy  flowers  of  Para- 
dise with  the  host  of  his  glorious  elect ! 
Why,  oh,  why  was  it  decreed  that  thou 
shouldst  come  to  Spain  ?  Never,  as  long 
as  I  live,  shall  a  day  pass  on  which  I 
mourn  not  for  thee.  What  care  I  now 
for  power,  for  glory,  when  all  my  joy  has 
passed  from  me  !  Who  will  be  my  sup- 
port and  stay  ?  What  friends  have  I  un- 
der heaven  ?  None  !  My  sons  ?  There 
is  not  one  that  can  compare  with  him. 
Friend  Roland,  I  now  must  return  to 
France.  When  I  shall  be  in  my  city  of 
Aix,  strangers  will  come  from  many  lands, 


256  Roland 

and  ask  for  thee.  And  I  shall  answer, 
1  He  died  in  Spain.'  And  lo  !  they  will 
all  rebel  against  me — Saxons,  Hungari- 
ans, Bulgars,  and  numberless  other  peo- 
ples. And  I  shall  miss  thee  more  each 
day.  Ah,  truly,  France,  sweet  France ! 
art  thou  orphaned  this  day.  As  for  me, 
so  great  is  my  sorrow,  I  would  that  I 
could  die — die  here  and  now,  in  these 
most  fatal  passes,  that  my  soul  might  join 
all  these  loyal  souls  and  my  body  be 
buried  with  theirs." 

The  aged  King  was  very  near  swoon- 
ing again ;  his  trembling  hands  uncon- 
sciously tore  at  his  hair  and  beard  as,  with 
broken  voice,  he  spoke  a  last  blessing  and 
farewell. 

"  Friend  Roland,  and  art  thou  gone  in- 
deed ?  Ah  me,  thy  young  life  is  done. 
May  thy  soul  find  joy  in  Paradise  ! " 

The  barons  looked  at  one  another  in 
dismay.  They  feared  lest  excessive  grief 
might  unman  their  aged  liege,  and  felt 
that  something  must  be  done  to  rouse 
him  to  action  of  some  sort.  Geoffrey  of 
Anjou  was  the  first  to  speak — one  of  the 


CHARLES  MOURNS  OVER   ROLAND'S  BODY. 


The  Obsequies  257 

four  who  were  supporting  him  in  this 
hour  of  weakness. 

"  Sir  King,"  he  said,"  yield  not  your  soul 
entirely  to  grief ;  much  there  is  that  should 
be  looked  to.  Will  you  not  command  that 
out  of  all  these  dead  our  own  be  sought 
out  and  laid  in  a  common  tomb  ?  " 

"  You  are  right,"  replied  Charles,  partly 
rousing  himself.  "  Sound  your  horn  !  " 

All  was  done  as  Geoffrey  suggested. 
In  the  army  there  was  no  lack  of  bishops, 
abbots,  priests,  and  monks,  to  give  the 
dead  absolution  and  benison.  Then  great 
quantities  were  burned  of  incense  and 
of  myrrh  ;  the  bodies  were  interred  with 
every  honour  and  left  forever  in  those 
mountain  wilds — for  what  else  could  the 
sorrowing  friends  have  done  ? 

By  the  Emperor's  order,  the  bodies  of 
Roland,  Oliver,  and  Turpin  were  laid 
apart.  After  the  general  obsequies,  he 
had  them  opened  in  his  presence.  The 
hearts  were  wrapped  each  in  a  silk  cloth 
and  placed  in  white  marble  caskets.  The 
bodies  were  carefully  washed  with  wine 
and  spices,  and  sewed  up  in  deer  hides, 


258  Roland 

then  each  was  laid  on  a  chariot  and  cov- 
ered with  a  pall  of  precious  Oriental  silk, 
and  the  three  chariots  followed  the  army, 
under  strong  and  honourable  escort. 

Just  as  all  these  sad  rites  had  been  at- 
tended to,  and  Charles  was  preparing  to 
depart,  there  suddenly  appeared,  at  a  turn 
of  the  winding  pass,  the  vanguard  of  the 
Saracens.  Two  heralds  rode  out  from 
the  front  rank,  and  thus,  in  the  Emir's 
name,  challenged  the  King  to  battle : 

"  Thou  proud  King !  no  way  of  escape  is 
open  to  thee.  Baligant  is  here,  having  rid- 
den in  thy  track.  Countless  the  host  he 
brings  from  Araby.  This  day  will  show 
what  stuff  ye  are  made  of,  thou  and  thy 
men." 

Nothing  could  have  happened  more  op- 
portunely to  rouse  Charles  from  his  de- 
spondent mood.  He  cast  a  glance  of 
pride  over  his  army,  and,  without  deign- 
ing to  give  the  Paynim  messengers  a  di- 
rect reply,  shouted  in  loud,  defiant  tones : 

"  To  horse,  ye  barons !  to  arms  and  to 
horse!" 


IV 
ROLAND     AVENGED 

THE  Emperor  was  the  first  to  arm  him- 
self, and  when,  mounted  on  his  best 
charger,   he    galloped  along    his    army's 
front,  calling  aloud  on  God  and  St.  Peter, 
he  was  cheered  with  wild  enthusiasm,  and 
there  was  but  one  cry  through  the  ranks  : 
"  This  man  was  born  to  wear  a  crown  ! " 
He   called  to  him   Duke   Naimes  and 
Count  Josseran  of  Provence;    these  two 
experienced    captains    he     appointed    to 
muster  and  divide  the  army  in  columns, 
which   they  did  most  promptly  and  skil- 
fully.    The  vanguard  they  left  as  it  was, 
— two     columns,     composed    entirely    of 
French    knights.       In    the   third  column 
they  placed  the   brave    Bavarians,  thirty 
thousand  in  all,  under  Ogier,  the  renowned 
259 


260  Roland 

Paladin  of  Denmark.  Then  came  the 
knights  from  other  parts  of  Germany,  all 
with  strong  horses  and  excellent  arms  and 
most  stubborn  spirit.  The  fifth  column 
was  composed  of  Normans  under  their 
own  Duke  Richard,  and  the  sixth  of  men 
from  Brittany.  Then  came  those  from 
Auvergne  and  Poitou  in  one  body — the 
seventh — and  the  barons  from  Flanders  in 
the  eighth,  while  the  ninth  was  formed  of 
knights  from  Burgundy  and  Lorraine. 

The  tenth  column  was  the  choicest ;  it 
was  composed  of  the  oldest  barons  of 
France,  with  snowy  locks  and  beards,  in 
resplendent  armours  ;  their  shields  all  cov- 
ered with  various  cognizances.  With  them 
rode  Charlemagne  himself,  and  Geoffrey 
of  Anjou,  who  bore  the  royal  standard, 
the  noble  Oriflamme. 

When  the  army  stood  ordered  thus  in 
perfect  battle  array,  Charles  dismounted, 
and  kneeling  on  the  grass,  his  face  turned 
to  the  rising  sun,  he  poured  out  his  heart 
in  a  fervent  prayer  : 

"  O  Thou,  Who  art  our  true  Father,  be 
thou  my  shield  this  day !  Thou  Who 


AN  OLIFANT  (XllTH  CENTURY). 


( 


THE  ORIFLAMME. 

(A/ter  Mosaics  in  the  Basilica  of  St.  John  Late 
Century.) 


in  Rome,  IXth 


Roland  Avenged  261 

didst  save  Jonah  from  the  monster's  maw 
and  spare  the  King  of  Nineveh  with  his 
city  and  all  his  people, — Thou  Who  didst 
deliver  Daniel  from  the  ravenous  lions, 
and  didst  preserve  the  three  youths  in  the 
blazing  furnace, — let  Thy  loving  care  en- 
compass me  to-day,  and  of  Thy  goodness 
grant,  if  such  thy  pleasure,  that  I  may 
avenge  my  nephew  Roland  ! " 

Having  ended  his  prayer,  Charles  rose 
from  his  knees,  making  on  his  brow  the 
sign  of  the  all-conquering  Cross,  then 
mounted,  while  Duke  Naimes  and  Jos- 
seran  held  his  stirrup.  He  never  had 
looked  more  handsome,  noble,  cheery, 
more  altogether  royal,  never  had  man- 
aged his  steed  with  more  chivalrous  grace. 
He  spread  his  white  beard  broadly  over 
his  chest,  and  so  did  his  guard  of  honour, 
for  love  of  him. 

At  that  instant  the  clarions  were  sounded 
at  front  and  rear ;  Roland's  Olifant  rang 
out  loudest  and  clearest  above  the  rest. 
The  sound  brought  tears  again  to  many 
an  eye  and  fired  each  heart  with  double 
eagerness  for  the  coming  battle,  which  all 


262  Roland 

felt  would  be  decisive.  It  was  therefore 
in  the  most  promising  mood  that  they  hur- 
ried on  through  that  wilderness  of  precipi- 
tous mountains,  of  beetling  rocks  and 
narrow  valleys,  out  into  open  ground  on 
the  Spanish  side  of  the  pass.  There,  in 
the  middle  of  an  immense  plain,  they 
halted  waiting  for  the  attack.  And  the 
Emir's  scouts  hastened  to  their  master 
with  the  tidings : 

"  We  have  seen  Charles,  that  proud 
King ;  fierce  are  his  men,  and  not  one 
will  fail  him  at  the  proof.  Quick,  arm 
yourself  !  Make  ready  !  " 

The  Paynim  army  thrice  exceeded  the 
Christian  host  in  numbers.  It  was  di- 
vided into  thirty  columns  which  included 
all  the  nations  of  the  East  and  all  those 
in  Europe  which  had  not  been  conquered 
by  Charlemagne.  Of  the  former,  there 
were  troops  from  Egypt,  Nubia,  Arabia, 
Persia,  Palestine ;  among  the  latter  there 
were  Hungarians,  Serbs  and  other  Slavs, 
Prussians,  and  many  other  heathen  bar- 
barians. So  that  it  is  hardly  to  be  won- 
dered at  if  the  Emir,  riding  from  rank  to 


Roland  Avenged  263 

rank  on  his  fiery  Arabian  courser,  in  all 
the  splendour  of  Oriental  armament,  felt 
and  inspired  the  most  absolute  confidence 
in  his  power  to  crush  the  Christians  at 
one  blow.  He  even  yet  did  not  quite 
believe  that  they  would  actually  accept 
his  challenge. 

"  Charles,"  he  said  to  his  son  who  was 
riding  close  behind  him  with  other  cap- 
tains, "  Charles  is  mad  to  dare  this  ven- 
ture. If  he  does  not  refuse  the  battle,  he 
will  never  again  wear  golden  crown  on  his 
brow." 

But  the  Christians  stood  in  battle  array, 
and  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  they 
meant  to  fight.  And  never  was  field 
more  apt.  Vast  and  perfectly  level,  it 
was  not  broken  by  a  single  wood  or 
mound  ;  nothing  that  could  serve  as  cover 
or  for  an  ambush,  or  conceal  the  move- 
ments of  one  army  from  the  other,  even 
for  a  moment.  Had  Roland  had  such  a 
field,  things  would  have  gone  very  differ- 
ently. The  day,  too,  was  fair  and  un- 
clouded, and  when  the  Emir  led  the 
charge  with  his  three  standard-bearers, 


264  Roland 

there  was  nothing  in  either  place  or 
weather  that  favoured  one  army  more 
than  the  other.  Both  were  in  the  highest 
spirits  and  so  fiercely  resolute,  nothing 
but  death  could  have  separated  them. 

Charles  himself  was  in  the  thickest  of 
the  fray,  alert  and  active  as  any  younger 
knight ;  but  for  him  Duke  Naimes  would 
not  have  seen  the  night,  having  been  un- 
horsed and  stunned  by  a  terrible  blow 
struck  on  his  head  by  a  noted  Saracen 
warrior,  the  Emir's  brother,  just  as  he  had 
slain  in  single  combat  the  Emir's  own  son. 
Charles  chanced  to  be  in  that  part  of  the 
field.  He  rode  down  the  Saracen  cham- 
pion so  furiously,  striking  him  with  his 
lance  full  in  the  breast,  that  he  dropped 
from  his  horse  without  a  word.  The 
King  then  raised  his  old  friend,  gently 
helped  him  into  the  saddle,  and  led  him 
to  a  quieter  spot.  The  old  warrior  took 
but  a  short  rest  and  soon  was  in  the  hot- 
test of  it  again,  with  Ogier  of  Denmark, 
whose  prowess  that  day  outdid  even  his 
own  former  achievements,  and  Geoffrey 
of  Anjou,  the  noble  bearer  of  the  Qri- 


Roland  Avenged  265 

flamme.  On  the  whole,  in  spite  of  great 
losses,  the  day  went  well  for  the  Christians, 
and  Roland's  Olifant,  sounding  high  above 
all  other  horns  and  clarions,  seemed  to 
taunt  the  Paynims  with  its  exulting  notes. 
Baligant,  maddened  with  rage  at  the 
death  of  his  son  and  his  brother,  was  rid- 
ing all  over  the  field  in  search  of  Charles. 
Nothing  would  satisfy  him  but  a  personal 
engagement  with  the  King  himself.  It 
was  only  towards  dusk  that  he  at  last  had 
his  wish.  They  met  in  the  very  middle 
of  the  field,  shouting  each  his  battle-cry. 
The  encounter  was  not  unequal,  for  both 
were  of  about  the  same  age,  and  most 
evenly  matched  for  valour  and  warlike 
skill.  Their  feelings,  too,  were  equally 
high-wrought,  one  being  passionately  de- 
sirous of  avenging  his  nephew,  the  other 
his  son.  At  the  first  shock,  both  shields 
were  shattered  just  above  the  buckle,  and 
the  mail-shirts  were  ripped  as  though  they 
had  been  of  silk.  At  the  same  instant 
the  girths  of  both  chargers  snapped  apart, 
the  saddles  turned,  and  both  champions 
found  themselves  on  the  ground,  but 


266  Roland 

promptly  sprang  to  their  feet  and  drew 
their  swords. 

"  Thou  didst  kill  my  son,"  said  Baligant 
as  he  sought  for  a  break  in  the  armour, 
where  his  sword's  point  might  enter ; 
"and  most  unjustly  didst  invade  my  land. 
Still,  if  thou  wilt  do  homage  to  me,  I  will 
give  it  thee  in  fief." 

"  It  were  deadly  shame,"  replied  Charles, 
as  he  parried  stroke  after  stroke.  "  I  owe 
a  heathen  neither  love  nor  troth  ;  yet  will 
I  love  thee,  if  thou  but  accept  God's  law 
and  become  a  Christian." 

"  Idle  words  !"  cried  the  Emir  ;  "swords 
are  better." 

And  with  that  he  aimed  a  cut  at 
Charles's  head  with  such  violence  and 
precision  that  the  sword  went  through  the 
helmet  of  burnished  steel,  and  slashed  off 
the  hair  on  one  side  and  a  slice  of  the 
flesh  the  breadth  of  a  hand,  so  that  the 
bone  was  laid  bare.  The  King  swayed 
on  his  feet  and  might  have  fallen  again, 
but  suddenly  Gabriel,  the  Archangel,  stood 
at  his  side,  invisible  to  all  but  him ;  and 
he  heard  his  warning  voice ; 


Roland  Avenged  267 

"  Great  King,  bethink  thee  !  Lose  not 
thyself  !  " 

The  instant  that  Charles  saw  the  heav- 
enly form  and  heard  the  inspiriting  words, 
all  fear  of  death  left  him,  his  strength  re- 
vived tenfold  ;  with  his  own  peerless  sword 
he  struck  his  foe's  helmet  all  sparkling 
with  gems,  and  while  the  Emir  staggered, 
stunned  under  the  blow,  cleft  his  skull 
down  to  the  white  beard  and  left  him  dead 
on  the  field.  Then,  shouting  "  Mount- 
joy  ! "  he  raised  his  great  stature  for  his 
men  to  know  him.  Duke  Naimes  rushed 
for  his  charger,  and  held  him  for  the  King 
to  mount,  no  one  hindering,  for  the  Pay- 
nims,  seeing  the  Emir  fall,  had  fled,  panic- 
stricken,  and  scattered  all  over  the  plain. 

Charles  at  once  ordered  the  pursuit. 

"  Chase  them ! "  he  shouted  to  his 
barons ;  "  God  gives  them  into  your 
hands.  Take  your  fill  of  vengeance,  re- 
lieve your  hearts !  Pay  them  for  the 
tears  which  I  have  seen  you  shed  this 
morning ! " 

The  chase  was  hot,  and  great  the  slaugh- 
ter ;  very  few  escaped, 


268  Roland 

The  heat  had  been  oppressive.  Yet 
the  townsmen  had  watched  the  changing 
fortunes  of  the  day  from  the  city  walls,  as 
much  as  they  could  see  through  the  whirl- 
ing clouds  of  dust.  All  day  Queen  Bram- 
imonda  had  hardly  left  her  tower,  where 
she  stood  with  her  women  and  many 
priests  of  her  false  faith.  When  she  saw 
the  rout  of  the  Paynim  army,  and  the 
Christians  riding  hard  after  them,  even 
under  the  city  walls,  she  rushed  into  Mar- 
silius'  chamber,  forgetful  of  his  pitiful 
condition,  crying  in  dire  despair  : 

"  O  noble  King !  our  men  are  beaten  ! 
The  Emir  is  dead — perished  ignomini- 
ously ! " 

At  the  cruel  tidings  thus  ruthlessly  con- 
veyed, the  poor  weak  King  turned  to  the 
wall  and,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands 
to  hide  the  streaming  tears,  expired  with- 
out a  word. 

That  same  night  the  victors  slept  in 
Saragossa,  peacefully  and  unafraid,  well 
knowing  that  no  further  defence  would  be 
attempted.  The  Queen  herself  delivered 
the  keys  into  Charles's  own  hands, 


Roland  Avenged  269 

The  next  day,  by  the  Emperor's  order, 
a  thousand  knights  patrolled  the  streets  in 
all  directions,  entering  every  mosque  they 
came  across,  and  breaking  up  with  mallets 
and  maces  all  the  unholy  images.  When 
this  work  of  pious  destruction  was  thor- 
oughly done,  the  bishops  consecrated  the 
waters  of  the  river  and  the  fountains,  and 
set  about  baptising  the  inhabitants,  and  if 
one  refused  to  do  Charles's  bidding  and 
was  obdurate,  he  was  either  hanged,  cut 
down,  or  burned.  In  this  way  over  one 
hundred  thousand  were  baptised  and 
became  good  Christians.  Only  Queen 
Bramimonda  was  let  alone  for  the  present, 
because  Charles  intended  to  take  her 
home  with  him  to  France,  and  there  to 
have  her  instructed  and  converted  gently, 
by  loving  persuasion. 

One  thousand  valiant  knights  were  left 
as  garrison  ;  then  the  Emperor,  with  the 
entire  army,  started  homeward.  They 
halted  for  a  day  at  Bordeaux,  the  great 
city  at  the  mouth  of  the  Gironde.  There, 
in  the  cathedral  church,  Charles  laid  Ro- 
land's Olifant,  well  filled  with  gold  coin, 


270  Roland 

upon  the  main  altar,  and  for  many  years 
pilgrims  could  see  it  there.  He  crossed 
the  wide  Gironde  in  ships,  and  stopped 
on  his  way  only  once  more,  at  the  abbey 
where  the  obsequies  of  the  three  noble 
champions,  Roland,  Oliver,  and  the  Arch- 
bishop, were  celebrated  with  the  Church's 
most  solemn  pomp,  their  bodies  laid  to 
rest  in  white  marble  tombs,  and  their 
souls  commended  once  more,  with  a  last 
farewell,  to  God  and  all  His  saints.  After 
this  Charles  never  halted  until  he  dis- 
mounted at  the  wide  porch  of  his  own 
palace  at  Aix.  He  hardly  took  the  time 
to  rest  before  he  dispatched  messengers 
to  summon  wise  men  from  all  the  coun- 
tries subject  to  him — Saxony  and  Bavaria, 
Burgundy  and  Lorraine  and  Germany, 
Brittany  and  Normandy,  and  others — to 
form  a  royal  court  of  justice,  together  with 
the  wisest  among  the  French  barons,  for 
the  trial  of  the  traitor  Ganelon. 


THE   TRAITOR'S   PUNISHMENT 

AS  the  Emperor,  arriving  at  his  city  of 
Aix,  ascended  the  stairs  of  his  palace, 
he  was  met  in  the  great  hall  by  a  damsel 
tall  and  fair.  It  was  Aude,  Oliver's  sister 
and  Roland's  affianced  wife. 

"Where  is  Roland  the  Captain?"  she 
demanded  of  Charles.  "  Where  is  he  who 
swore  to  take  me  for  his  bride  ?  " 

Charles  was  dumb  with  sorrow  and 
sympathy  for  the  maiden,  and  his  fingers 
pulled  at  his  beard,  as  was  his  wont  when- 
ever he  was  much  moved. 

"Sister,  dear  friend !"  he  answered  at  last, 
"  thou  askest  for  one  who  is  dead.  But  do 
not  pine,  for  I  will  make  good  thy  loss.  I 
will  give  thee  Louis,  my  own  son,  and  heir 
to  all  my  lands.  What  more  can  I  say  ?  " 
271 


272  Roland 

"  Such  words,  in  sooth,  sound  strangely 
to  my  ear,"  fair  Aude  replied.  "  God, 
and  His  saints,  and  His  angels  forefend 
that,  Roland  dead,  I  should  live  ! " 

Even  as  she  spoke,  the  colour  faded 
from  her  cheek,  and  she  sank  down  at  the 
feet  of  the  King.  He  thought  she  had 
swooned  and,  bending  over  her  with  pity- 
ing, tearful  eyes  and  endearing  words, 
took  her  hands  and  tried  to  raise  her.  But 
her  head  fell  limply  on  her  shoulder ;  all 
plainly  saw  that  life  had  fled.  The  barons 
stood  awestruck,  and  not  many  eyes  were 
dry  as  they  devoutly  murmured  a  prayer 
for  the  gentle  soul.  The  King  ordered 
four  ladies  of  the  court  to  bear  her  to  a 
nunnery,  where  they  watched  by  her  all 
night  and  until  daybreak,  when  she  was 
interred  by  the  altar  in  the  church,  with 
great  honours. 

And  now  there  was  nothing  in  the  way 
to  delay  the  great  trial.  Ganelon  the 
traitor  was  brought  before  the  palace, 
loaded  with  iron  chains.  There  he  was 
bound  to  a  strong  post,  his  hands  being 
tied  with  thongs  of  raw  deer-hide.  And 


DEMOISELLE  AUDE   KILLED  B 


The  Traitor's  Punishment     273 

all  who  would,  beat  him  with  sticks  and 
whips.  In  such  miserable  plight  did  he 
await  his  trial.  But  his  wicked  spirit  was 
even  yet  unbroken. 

It  was  a  great  day  and  a  general  festi- 
val, when  the  great  court  assembled  and 
the  Emperor  commanded  the  traitor  to  be 
brought  before  him.  Charles  opened  the 
court  in  a  brief  and  pithy  address  : 

"  My  lords  and  barons  !  I  pray  you 
that  you  try  Ganelon  as  is  right  and  lawful. 
He  went  with  me  to  Spain.  He  caused 
the  death  of  twenty  thousand  French 
knights.  He  caused  the  death  of  Roland, 
my  nephew,  whom  ye  shall  never  see 
again.  He  caused  the  death  of  Oliver, 
the  valiant  and  the  courteous.  In  a  word, 
he  has,  for  money,  betrayed  my  twelve 
Peers." 

"  All  this  is  true,"  said  Ganelon,  un- 
daunted and  defiant,  "  and  may  I  be  ac- 
cursed if  I  deny  it.  But  Roland  had 
wronged  me  of  much  gold  and  silver. 
Hence  it  was  I  wished  for  his  death  and 
worked  his  ruin.  But  I  do  not  admit  my 
action  to  have  been  treason." 


274  Roland 

Ganelon,  as  he  spoke  these  monstrous 
words,  stood  proud  and  straight  before 
the  King.  His  cheek  was  ruddy,  and  his 
bearing  confident.  With  a  quick,  sharp 
glance  he  took  in  the  hall  and  the  court 
of  his  peers,  and  the  crowd  of  those  who 
came  to  see  and  hear.  Among  these  last 
he  detected  thirty  of  his  own  kinsmen. 
This  marvellously  enhanced  his  courage, 
and  he  now  spoke  out  quite  boldly : 

"  For  the  love  of  God,  barons,  hear  me ! 
True,  I  was  in  the  Emperor's  army,  and 
I  served  him  loyally  and  lovingly.  But 
his  nephew  Roland  had  a  grudge  against 
me,  and  as  good  as  condemned  me  to 
death.  He  got  the  King  to  send  me  as 
messenger  to  Marsilius,  and  if  I  escaped, 
it  was  through  my  own  cleverness.  Then 
I  challenged  Roland  and  Oliver  and  all 
their  companions.  Charles  and  his  noble 
barons  were  witnesses  to  the  challenge. 
I  call  this  vengeance,  not  treason." 

"  We  will  consult  on  this,"  said  the 
judges. 

Among  Ganelon's  thirty  kinsmen  there 
was  one  named  Pinabel,  a  notable  warrior 


The  Traitor's  Punishment     275 

and  a  no  less  notable  speaker,  never  at  a 
loss  for  an  argument.  To  him  said 
Ganelon  : 

"  It  is  to  you  I  look  to  deliver  me  from 
disgrace  and  death." 

"  I  will  be  your  champion,"  Pinabel 
readily  replied.  "  The  first  man  who 
votes  for  your  death — I  challenge  him  to 
mortal  combat.  The  Emperor  must  give 
us  time  and  place,  and  my  sword  shall 
prove  the  man  a  liar." 

In  the  meantime,  the  court  had  retired 
to  consider  the  verdict.  Those  of  the 
barons  who  were  more  leniently  inclined 
and  better  disposed  towards  Pinabel  gradu- 
ally won  a  hearing : 

"  Better  let  the  matter  rest.  Let  us  stop 
the  trial  and  pray  the  King  this  once  to 
pardon  Ganelon,  who  will  henceforth  serve 
him  faithfully  and  without  guile.  Ro- 
land is  dead  ;  you  cannot  call  him  back. 
Nor  can  gold  or  silver  bring  him  back. 
As  to  this  combat,  't  were  folly  to  permit 
it." 

All  the  barons  assented,  save  only 
Thierri,  the  brother  of  Geoffrey  of  Anjou. 


276  Roland 

The  barons  now  returned  into  Charle- 
magne's presence  : 

"  Sire,"  they  said,  "  we  pray  you,  hold 
Count  Ganelon  acquitted.  He  will  hence- 
forth serve  you  faithfully  and  lovingly. 
Let  him  live  ;  for  he  is  of  very  noble 
lineage.  Roland,  moreover,  is  dead  ;  we 
shall  never  see  him  more.  Nor  will  gold 
or  silver  bring  him  back." 

"  Ye  are  traitors,  all  of  you  ! "  cried  the 
King,  angrily,  and  seeing  that  all  were 
against  him,  he  bowed  his  head,  exclaim- 
ing, "  Oh,  miserable  me  ! " 

Suddenly  a  knight  stood  before  him — 
Thierri,  Duke  Geoffrey's  brother,  of  mid- 
dle stature,  sparely  built  and  dark,  with 
black  hair  and  brown  eyes.  Courteously 
he  addressed  Charles : 

"  Be  not  so  grieved,  Sir  King !  You 
know  I  have  always  served  you  well,  and 
now  my  ancestry  entitles  me  to  sit  in  this 
court.  In  whatever  way  Roland  may 
have  wronged  Ganelon,  your  interest 
should  have  been  his  protection.  Gane- 
lon sold  him — he  is  a  felon.  He  has  per- 
jured himself  right  here  before  you.  For 


The  Traitor's  Punishment     277 

all  this  I  condemn  him  to  a  traitor's 
death  :  let  him  be  hanged  and  his  body 
thrown  to  the  dogs.  If  he  have  a  kins- 
man who  be  willing  to  give  me  the  lie, 
with  this  my  sword  I  am  ready  to  main- 
tain my  say." 

"He  speaks  well,"  said  the  French. 

Then  Pinabel  came  forth  and  stood  be- 
fore the  King :  tall,  broad,  and  of  such 
strength  that  he  could  kill  a  man  with  one 
blow  of  his  fist. 

"  Sire,"  he  said,  "  this  is  your  court ; 
you  preside.  Forbid  them  then  to  make 
so  much  noise.  The  thing  is  simple  : 
Thierri  has  pronounced  his  sentence ;  I 
give  him'  the  lie  and  challenge  him  to 
mortal  combat.  Here  my  token!" 

And  he  presents  to  Charles  his  right- 
hand  glove. 

"  So  be  it,"  said  the  Emperor ;  "  but  I 
must  have  good  hostages  besides." 

Thirty  of  Pinabel's  kinsmen  immedi- 
ately offered  themselves. 

"  I  too  will  give  you  pledges,"  said  the 
King,  and  placed  the  hostages  under  strong 

guard,  to  await  the  result  of  the  combat, 


2/8  Roland 

Thierri  also  gave  his  glove  to  Charles, 
who  furnished  hostages  for  him  also,  and 
commissioned  Ogier  of  Denmark  to  order 
all  the  details. 

The  two  champions  heard  mass,  con- 
fessed their  sins,  and  received  holy  com- 
munion after  being  absolved  and  blessed 
by  a  priest,  and  leaving  ample  alms  to 
various  churches ;  then  armed  themselves 
most  carefully,  and  reported  themselves 
ready  to  await  the  King's  pleasure. 

The  combat  took  place  in  a  vast  plain 
just  outside  of  Aix,  where  there  was  room 
for  the  immense  crowd  which  streamed 
out  to  witness  it.  At  the  very  first  shock 
both  champions  were  unhorsed,  and  for 
some  time,  in  the  fury  of  the  mutual  on- 
slaught, it  was  impossible  to  predict  the 
issue.  Neither  seemed  to  gain  any  ad- 
vantage, and  the  anxiety  of  Charles  and 
the  French  barons  increased  with  every 
moment,  till  Charles  exclaimed  in  deep 
anguish  of  mind,  "  O  God  !  show  us  where 
is  the  right ! " 

"  Surrender,  Thierri !  "  Pinabel  whis- 
pered to  his  adversary  at  a  moment  when 


The  Traitor's  Punishment     279 

they  had  been  brought  by  the  chances  of 
the  combat  to  very  close  quarters.  "  I 
am  willing  to  become  thy  vassal,  and  serve 
thee  loyally  as  my  liege,  and  I  will  give 
thee  of  my  wealth  as  much  as  thy  heart 
desires — only  make  Ganelon's  peace  with 
the  King ! " 

.  "Far  be  the  thought  from  me!"  re- 
plied Thierri.  "  Shame  on  me,  were  I  to 
consent !  No  !  Let  God  decide  between 
us  this  day  !  Rather  do  thou  give  up  the 
fight.  Thou  art  strong  and  skilled  in  war ; 
thy  peers  know  thee  well  for  a  valiant 
man.  I  will  make  thy  peace  with  Charles. 
But  Ganelon  must  be  brought  to  justice." 

"  God  the  Lord  forbid  ! "  cried  Pinabel. 
"  I  intend  to  uphold  my  kindred,  and  yield 
to  no  mortal  man.  Better  die  than  take 
such  shame  upon  myself ! " 

After  this  parley  the  fight  was  resumed 
with  greater  violence  still,  and  did  not  last 
much  longer.  At  one  moment  Thierri, 
wounded  in  the  face  and  nearly  disarmed, 
all  but  his  sword,  was  in  imminent  peril ; 
but  the  next,  rushing  at  Pinabel  with  the 
greater  fury,  he  shattered  his  helmet  and 


280  Roland 

skull  with  one  desperate  stroke  and  felled 
him  to  the  ground,  dead. 

Then  a  great  shout  went  up  to  heaven  : 

"  A  miracle  !  a  great  miracle  !  God  has 
shown  the  right  !  Now  it  is  but  just  that 
Ganelon  be  hanged,  he  and  all  his  kins- 
men who  have  gone  security  for  him  ! " 

Charles,  with  four  of  his  most  illustri- 
ous barons — old  Duke  Naimes,  Ogier  of 
Denmark,  Duke  Geoffrey  of  Anjou,  and 
William  of  Blaye — hastens  to  the  spot 
where  the  victor  stands,  still  dazed  and 
sore  hurt.  He  clasps  Thierri  in  his  arms, 
wipes  the  blood  from  his  face  with  his 
own  sable  mantle.  With  great  gentle- 
ness the  champion  is  disarmed  and  placed 
upon  a  soft-paced  mule  of  Araby,  and  joy- 
ously escorted  back  to  Aix,  there  to  be 
tenderly  cared  for. 

Then  Charles  called  together  once  more 
his  counts  and  barons  : 

"  What  do  you  advise  about  the  host- 
ages who  have  been  kept  in  durance  ?" 

"  Death  !  let  them  all  die  !  "  was  the 
unanimous  cry. 

The  cruel  sentence  was  instantly  exe- 


The  Traitor's  Punishment     281 

cuted.  Thus  a  traitor  not  only  ruins  him- 
self, but  involves  others  in  his  ruin. 

As  for  Ganelon  himself,  the  hatred  of  the 
French  was  so  intense,  nothing  would  sat- 
isfy them  but  that  he  should  die  a  horrible 
death  of  unheard-of  torture  :  he  was  torn 
limb  from  limb  by  four  wild  horses,  to  the 
tails  of  which  he  had  been  strongly  bound. 

When  this  dreadful  act  of  vengeance 
had  been  executed,  Charles  summoned 
learned  bishops  from  France,  Bavaria,  and 
Germany,  who  were  staying  at  his  Court, 
and  said  to  them  : 

"  There  is  in  my  household  a  captive 
lady  of  high  lineage.  Since  she  is  with  us 
she  has  heard  so  many  pious  sermons  and 
seen  so  many  examples  of  holiness,  that 
she  wishes  to  believe  in  God  and  be  a 
good  Christian.  Therefore,  and  that  her 
soul  may  be  saved,  baptise  her,  I  pray." 

"  Right  willingly,"  they  replied  ;  "  select 
her  godmothers  from  among  the  noblest 
dames." 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that,  in  presence 
of  an  immense  crowd,  Marsilius'  widowed 
queen  was  baptised  by  the  name  of  Juli- 


282  Roland 

ana.       She   was   a    sincere    and    willing 
convert. 

That  night  Charles,  wearied  with  the 
day's  manifold  emotions  and  events,  laid 
himself  down  in  his  high-vaulted  chamber 
to  rest  and  sleep.  After  these  many  years 
of  toil  and  danger,  he  longed  to  spend 
some  time  at  peace  in  his  own  beloved 
city,  and  work  quietly  with  his  learned 
clerks  and  schoolmen  for  the  good  and 
instruction  of  his  people.  But  it  was  not 
to  be.  Rest  was  not  for  him  who  could 
do  needful  work  in  the  world  which  no 
other  man  was  equal  to.  In  the  dead  of 
night  God's  messenger,  the  Archangel 
Gabriel,  stood  by  his  bedside  once  more, 
and  bade  him  hasten  without  delay  to 
some  distant  Eastern  lands,  to  rescue 
Christians  from  oppressing  infidels.  The 
aged  monarch  groaned.  "  O  God  !  how 
toilsome  is  my  life  ! "  he  exclaimed,  and 
wished  that  he  might  stay.  But  he  never 
thought  of  disobeying  the  divine  command. 
And  forthwith,  the  next  day,  he  began  to 
prepare  for  another  campaign,  another  war. 


NOTE  ON  THE  "  CHANSON  DE  ROLAND  " 

r~"\OES  a  curious  student  of  times  and 
•— '  manners  wish  he  could  conjure  from 
the  past  a  live  piece  out  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  with  its  rude  feudal  chivalry  ?  let 
him  pass  by  the  shelffuls  of  "  histories," 
and  take  up  the  "  Chanson  de  Roland." 
There  they  all  rise  before  him — acting, 
feeling,  living  flesh  and  blood — the  typi- 
cal dramatis  persona  who  make  up  the 
cast  of  the  great  play  that  fills  the  Euro- 
pean stage  during  the  millennium  which 
it  took  the  decadent  ancient  world  to 
evolve  into  the  modern  world  :  the  ideal 
King,  wise  and  brave  and  pious ;  the 
Hero,  the  Friend,  the  noble  Churchman, 
both  learned  and  warlike,  equally  good 
at  converting  men  by  eloquent  preach- 
ing or  the  no  less  persuasive  sword ; 
the  Traitor,  the  Average  Man  of  the 
283 


284  Roland 

time ;  and,  lastly,  the  Foe,  the  Paynim, 
embodying  the  everlasting  antagonism 
between  the  East  and  West.  What  mat- 
ters it  that  every  page  bristles  with  his- 
torical incongruities,  that  facts  and  dates 
are  jumbled  into  inextricable  confusion  ? 
Those  are  little  matters  which  can  be  set 
straight  in  a  minute  by  looking  into  the 
briefest  text-book,  the  most  condensed 
cyclopaedia,  or  dictionary  of  dates.  But 
the  colour,  the  vigour,  the  reality,  the  tell- 
ing touch,  the  life,  in  a  word — what  book 
of  references,  what  well-written  history 
even,  will  give  those  ? 

And  yet,  the  very  truth  of  the  poem 
makes  it,  if  not  exactly  repulsive,  still 
slightly  disappointing,  because  it  dispels 
much  of  the  glamour,  the  fictitious  romance, 
which  a  certain  too  indiscriminately  enthu- 
siastic poetical  school  has  cast  over  mediae- 
val life.  No,  they  are  not  romantic,  those 
fierce  men-at-arms,  for  whom  killing  and 
being  killed  is  the  most  natural  occupa- 
tion, "  all  in  the  day's  work,"  and  who 
give  a  thought  to  their  wives  and  daugh- 
ters incidentally,  between  two  campaigns. 


"  Chanson  de  Roland  "       285 

He  is  not  romantic,  Roland,  the  hero 
himself,  who  quarrels  with  his  wiser 
friend  out  of  sheer  boastful  recklessness, 
the  foolish  "  punctilio  "  which  the  French 
have  dubbed  by  the  untranslatable  name, 
point  d'honneur,  thereby  sacrificing  thou- 
sands of  lives  committed  to  his  care ; 
above  all,  he  is  not  romantic,  in  the  at- 
tractive sense  of  the  word,  in  his  relation 
to  fair  Aude,  his  affianced  bride,  no 
thought  of  whom  crosses  his  mind  even 
in  the  clear  vision  of  the  hour  before 
death.  He  falls  to  "thinking  of  many 
things  "  :  the  castle  where  his  early  youth 
was  spent  ;  his  wars  and  conquests  ;  the 
royal  uncle  who  loved  him — many  dying- 
visions,  but  not  that  of  the  fair  girl  who 
falls  dead  on  hearing  the  news  of  his 
death  !  And  these  men,  crimson  to  their 
necks  with  gore,  on  horses  wading  up  to 
their  bellies  in  warm  blood — they  are  not 
romantic,  still  less  poetical.  But  then 
we  must  remember  that  the  "  Lay  of  Ro- 
land" is  preeminently  a  "military  epic," 
as  it  has  been  aptly  classed,  presenting 
only  one  aspect  of  mediaeval  life,  and, 


286  Roland 

furthermore,  that  there  is  romance  and 
poetry  enough,  of  an  elevating,  manly  sort, 
in  the  feelings  which  underlie  and  prompt 
the  action  :  the  simple  but  vigorous  faith  ; 
the  self-forgetful  devotion  to  the  "  liege 
lord,"  who  embodies  the  idea  of  "country, 
native  land,"  and,  by  his  personal  qualities, 
attaches  men  to  himself  by  the  noblest  of 
bonds  ;  the  loyalty  of  man  to  man,  the 
tendernesss  in  friendship. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  this — to  us 
the  least  attractive — "  military  "  side  of  a 
great  epoch  must  have  appealed  most 
strongly  to  the  general  sympathies,  judg- 
ing from  the  great  and  enduring  popular- 
ity of  the  Roland  epic  through  all  the 
countries  which  were  overshadowed  by 
Charlemagne's  gigantic  personality,  and 
from  the  countless  transformations  which 
the  original  subject-matter  experienced  in 
successive  centuries  at  the  hands  of  every 
description  of  second-hand  versifiers. 

There  are  few  literary  phenomena  which 
arouse  more  curiosity  than  the  evolution 
of  a  national  epic.  But  of  all  such  epics 
the  "  Roland  "  is  perhaps  the  only  one 


"  Chanson  de  Roland  "       287 

which   affords   a   chance   of   tracing   this 
evolution  step  by  step. 

Leon  Gautier,  the  most  exhaustive 
student,  critic,  editor,  and  translator  (into 
modern  French)  of  the  Chanson,  thus 
sums  up  in  a  masterly  introduction  the 
conditions  which  must  combine  to  form  a 
soil  fit  for  a  national  epic  to  grow  on  : 

"  If  lyrical  poetry  is  essentially  personal,  epic  poetry  is  es- 
sentially national.  It  can  grow  only  out  of  a  people  which  is 
already  a  nation,  with  a  national  consciousness,  and  which 
combines  four  qualities  not  rare  to  find  in  simple  times  :  it  must 
be  religiously  inclined,  warlike,  unsophisticated,  (naive),  and 
fond  of  song.  I  may  add  that  the  nation  should  not,  at  the 
moment  it  produces  the  epic,  be  in  a  calm  and  prosperous 
condition  :  peace  never  yet  gave  birth  to  an  epic.  It  needs  a 
struggle,  its  birthplace  is  a  battle-field,  amidst  the  dying  who 
have  given  their  lives  to  some  great  cause.  So  much  for  soil. 
Then  the  epic  needs  matter — some  positive,  central  fact,  which 
it  will  enlarge  upon  in  telling  it.  The  fact  is  almost  always 
historical,  and  mostly  sad — a  defeat,  a  death.  .  .  .  Lastly,  it 
must  have  a  hero,  and  the  hero  must  completely  embody  his 
time  and  nationality.  His  personality  must  tower  above  the 
epic  fact,  so  that  this  fact  be  nothing  without  him  and  derive 
all  its  importance  from  him." 

This  is  all  of  reality  that  is  needed.  All 
the  rest — and  that  is  not  little — is  left  to 
imagination,  —  elaboration  of  detail,  of 
characters,  amplification,  and  invention  of 
incidents,  etc. 


288  Roland 

All  these  conditions  exist  with  marvel- 
lous exactness  in  the  case  of  our  epic. 
We  have  the  historical  nucleus  so  to  speak 
in  a  nutshell  in  a  passage  of  Eginhard's 
"  Life  of  Charlemagne,"  which  reads  as 
follows  : 

"  Charles  attacked  Spain  with  the  greatest  possible  display 
of  warlike  preparation  and,  having  crossed  the  Pyrenees  at  a 
bound  and  reduced  to  surrender  every  castle  and  town  he  ap- 
proached, was  returning  with  his  army  safe  and  sound,  but 
that  he  was  fated  to  experience  for  a  short  while  the  perfidy  of 
the  Vascons  (Basques)  in  the  pass  of  that  same  Pyrenean 
ridge.  For  as  the  army  was  proceeding  directly  on  its  way 
in  a  long  line,  such  as  the  narrowness  of  the  pass  allowed  of, 
the  Vascons  rushed  upon  the  extreme  rear,  encumbered  with 
the  army  baggage,  out  of  an  ambush  disposed  on  the  highest 
summit,  hurled  them  down  into  the  valley  below,  and  having 
engaged  them  at  close  quarters,  killed  them  every  one ;  after 
which  they  plundered  the  baggage,  and  dispersed  to  all  quarters 
with  the  utmost  celerity,  under  cover  of  the  night.  The  Vas- 
cons had  in  their  favour  the  lightness  of  their  armour  and  the 
nature  of  the  locality,  while  this  same  circumstance  and  the 
weight  of  their  armour  militated  against  the  Franks  and  placed 
them  utterly  at  a  disadvantage.  In  this  engagement  Eggihard, 
steward  of  the  royal  table,  Anselm,  Count  Palatine,  and 
Roland,  Prefect  of  the  Marches  of  Brittany,  perished  with 
many  others." 

Eginhard  mentions  the  fact  more  briefly 
in  his  "Annals,"  under  the  year  778,  and 
concludes  with  this  remark  :  "  This  disaster 
obscured  to  a  great  extent  in  the  King's 


"  Chanson  de  Roland  "        289 

heart  the  successes  he  had  obtained  in 
Spain." 

Dry  and  matter-of-fact  as  this  account 
is,  one  can  easily  see  how  the  fact  itself 
must  have  deeply  impressed  the  popular 
mind,  while  what  we  may  call  the  "  stage 
setting  "  offered  ample  food  for  the  popu- 
lar fancy  to  work  out  into  the  most  pict- 
uresque details.  Such  national  disgrace 
could  not  be  accepted  without  an  exoner- 
ating explanation.  The  blame  must  fall 
on  some  one  head — hence  the  Villain,  the 
Treason.  As  for  the  Hero,  he  was  not  far 
to  seek :  Roland,  as  it  happened,  was 
a  familiar  and  favourite  figure  in  the 
company  of  Paladins  which  surrounded 
the  majestic  central  figure — the  King ; 
many  stories  of  adventure  and  knightly 
exploits  were  attached  to  his  name  and 
that  of  his  friend  Oliver :  what  worthier, 
more  pathetic  culmination  than  such  an 
end? 

A  fine  material  for  new  ballads !  The 
wandering  minstrel  ("  juggler,  "jongleur}, 
was  sure  of  a  good  supper  and  warm  bed, 
— aye,  and  of  some  bright  coins  in  his 


290  Roland 

pouch  too, — in  the  castle  where,  in  his 
monotonous  singsong,  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  his  funny  little  violin,  he  enter- 
tained the  baron  and  his  household  (live 
book  that  he  was  !)  on  a  long  winter  even- 
ing, in  the  great  hall,  with  this  or  that  in- 
cident of  the  great  tragedy  of  Roncevaux  : 
now  the  treason  of  Ganelon,  then  the  mas- 
sacre, or  the  Archbishop's  last  blessing — 
Roland's  dying  blast  on  the  Olifant — 
the  moving  death  of  fair  Aude — the  great 
avenging  battle  of  Saragossa — Ganelon's 
trial  by  the  ordeal  of  single  combat  and 
his  punishment,  etc.  Several  of  these 
disjointed  ballads  (cantilenes),  if  recited 
successively,  arranged  themselves  into  a 
more  or  less  consecutive  story.  Then 
clerks  took  a  hand  at  them  and  worked 
them  into  one  of  those  semi -poetical, 
rudely  metrical  narratives  known  as  the 
Chansons  de  Geste  (epic  lays),  until  there 
came  one,  more  learned,  equipped  with 
literary  training  and  gifted  with  a  true 
poet's  soul,  who,  out  of  the  scattered 
"  material,"  made  an  epic  poem  —  our 
"  Chanson  de  Roland." 


JUGGLER  (JONGLEUR). 
a  MS.  in  the  National  Library  in  Paris,  Xlth,  Century.) 


"  Chanson  de  Roland  "        291 

Eminent  men  were  more  humble- 
minded  in  those  days,  a  humility  which, 
moreover,  was  fostered  by  the  teachings 
and  life  of  the  Christian  cloister,  the 
only  literary  workshop  for  ages.  So  they 
cared  more  for  leaving  a  fine  piece  of  work 
than  for  attaching  their  name  to  it.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  general  public  cared 
for  the  work  and  not  at  all  for  the  worker. 
Hence  we  have  the  works — the  "  Nibe- 
lungenlied,"  the  "  Beowulf,"  the  "  Chan- 
son de  Roland " — but  know  nothing  of 
any  authors. 

Neither  are  the  dates  of  these  and  sim- 
ilar works  given,  but  have  to  be  approxi- 
mated from  internal  evidence.  In  the 
case  of  our  Chanson  the  difficulty  is  less 
great,  owing  to  two  very  reliable  clews : 
first,  the  armours  described  are  those  of  the 
eleventh  century ;  and  second,  Jerusalem 
is  mentioned  as  being  in  the  power  of  the 
Moslems,  with  no  reference  to  the  first 
crusade,  which  took  place  in  1098.  Ergo 
— the  epic  took  its  final  form  some  time 
during  the  eleventh  century. 

In  a  Norman-French  metrical  description 


292 


Roland 


of  the  Battle  of  Hastings  (1066),  it  is  re- 
corded that  Taillefer,  William  the  Con- 
queror's favourite  minstrel  (trouvere),  rode 
in  front  of  the  Norman  ranks,  singing  of 
Roland  at  Roncevaux.  But  it  is  impos- 
sible to  decide  whether  he  sang  fragments 
of  our  Chanson,  or  of  the  older  and  ruder 
Chanson  de  Geste. 

THE    END 


PRONUNCIATION   OF   UNFAMILIAR 
NAMES. 


(AFTKR  TIIK  KEY  OF  THE  WEBSTER  DICTIONARY.) 

Aegir    .....  A'-g'ir. 

Aix  -    .....  Ax. 

Angantyr      .  .         .  An'-gan-tTr. 

Angurwadel  .         .         .  An'^gur-va'-del. 

Atle      .....  At'-le.' 

Aude     .....  Aud. 

Balder  .....  Bal'-der. 

Baligant         ....  Ba'-lig-ant, 

Bele      .....  Be'-le. 
Bjorn    ....         Byurn  (rf  as  in  but}. 

Blancandrin  ....  Blan'-can-drin. 

Bramimonda          .         .         .  Bra-mi'-mon'-da. 
Chanson     .     Shan(g)-son(g)/  (nasal,  but  do  not 

sound  the^-). 

Charlemagne         .         .         .  Shar-le-man/-y(e) 

Durendal       ....  Du-r 

Elli-de  .....  El-li'-de. 

Emir     .         .         .  .  A-meer'. 

293 


294      Pronunciation  of  Names 


Esaias  . 

Fafner  . 

Framnas 

Frey 

Freya    . 

Frithjof 

Ganelon 

Gautier 

Halfdan 

Halwar 

Ham 

Heid     . 

Helge    . 

Hilding 

Ingeborg 

Jumala 

Marsilius 

Naimes 

Odin     . 

Oehlenschlager 

Oriflamme     . 

Pinabel 

Ring 

Roncevaux  . 

Saragossa 

Sigurd  . 

Sote      . 

Surtur  . 

Tegner 


.  E-sa'-yas. 

.  Faf'-ner. 

.  Fram'-nase. 
Frey  (the  y  sounded  as  in  boy). 

.  Fre'-ya'. 

.  Frit'-iof. 

.  Ga-ne-lon'(g). 

.  Go-tya'. 

.  Half-dan. 

.  Hal'-var. 

.         .         .  Ham. 

".'..-      .  Held. 

r  .         -        .  Hel'-ge. 

.  Hild'-ing. 

.  In'-ge-borg. 

...         .  Yu'-ma-la. 

.  Mar-si'-lius. 

v.     .    .         .  Name. 

.  O'-din. 

U-len-shla'-ger. 

.  6-ri-flam'. 

.  Pi-na-bel7. 

.  Ring. 

.  Ron(g)-se-v6/. 

.  Sa-ra-gos'-sa. 

.         .         .  Sl'-gurd. 

.  So'-te. 

...         .  Sur'-tur. 

.  Ten'-yer. 


Pronunciation  of  Names       295 


Thierri . 

Thorsten 

Valhalla 

Valkyrie 

Veillantif 

Vikingson 


Tyer-ree'. 

Thor'-sten. 

Val-hal'-la. 

Val-ki"-rre. 

Ve-lyan(g)-tif 

Vl'-king-son. 


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